


The Taming

by ArianaFandoms



Series: The Taming [1]
Category: Robin Hood (BBC 2006)
Genre: But NO abuse between Guy and the OFC, But there will eventually be romance and smut, Depictions of slavery, F/M, Graphic descriptions of the unpleasantness of medieval life, Regretfully I feel I have to write this in response to some of the reviews I've been receiving:, Richard Armitage - Freeform, Robin will NOT have Marian or an OFC, Robin's fate WILL follow the show's fate for him, Slow Build, So please stop asking about Robin because this is a GUY-centric fic, This is NOT a Robin-centric story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-22
Updated: 2016-04-13
Packaged: 2018-02-18 08:58:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 23
Words: 53,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2342645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArianaFandoms/pseuds/ArianaFandoms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While on his rounds in Nottingham, Guy discovers a girl from another land. Her defiance fascinates him, but will it also be her downfall? Or will these two dispossessed souls find solace in each other? </p><p>Takes place sometime during season 2, meaning Marian is still very much in the picture. The story will allude to events from the show but will mostly follow its own path. </p><p>Pictures for the story can be found in "The Taming: Images."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Slave

Guy of Gisborne despised market day. Hoards of unwashed townsfolk bustling about, squeezing past each other, their malodorous scent hanging in the air long after they had gone. For the most part, people lowered their heads when they passed him, out of deference, he'd like to believe, but out of fear, he knew. Good. Let them fear him. They were less likely to cross him if they feared him.

Contrary to popular, public opinion, Guy did not enjoy tormenting them. He did what was required to remain in the Sheriff's favor. And _that_ was more important than anything else, except perhaps Marian.

Marian. A stubborn woman, who was too invested in the fates of the poor. Sometimes he wondered if she only accepted his advances to further her own cause, but these suspicions fled from his thoughts whenever she smiled at him.

Guy heaved a weary sigh and turned the corner, startling a woman carrying a basket of eggs. He glowered at her. She clutched her child's hand and hurried away. The slave market loomed ahead, already crowded with buyers. He despised this place the most. If the townsfolk stank, then those pitiful men and women in shackles smelled of something truly hellish.

"Ah, Thomas. I see you managed to elude Hood this time," greeted Guy. His hard, blue gaze swept the man's stock. "These look better than the last batch."

"Brought 'em from the continent, I did," the slaver replied, flashing Guy a yellow grin. "Somma the women are even half decen'." Thomas picked up one of the ropes and tugged forward a redheaded girl. Though she was covered in dirt and dust, her face was pretty enough. The slaver cupped her chin, oblivious to the tears in her blue eyes, and winked. "She doesn' speak neither."

"Delightful," Guy said dryly. "Where's the Sheriff's money, Thomas?"

The slaver released the girl, who stumbled back, silent sobs wracking her thin frame.

"As ye know, I lost half my stock on accoun' a Robin Hood." Thomas spat a discolored glob of saliva when he said the outlaw's name. "I need more time, Guy."

" _Sir_ Guy," the taller man hissed. He grabbed the collar of Thomas' shirt and brought his face close so that they were nose-to-nose. "You had better sell all these slaves at today's market, or else the Sheriff will be most displeased."

Fear flashed in the slaver's eyes, before he carefully removed Guy's hand from his shirt and stepped back.

"He'll get 'is due share," Thomas assured, with a scowl. "In the meantime, why dontcha pick a slave for yourself? On me."

"I have no use for a slave," Guy said. He turned and was about to leave, when a small woman sitting cross-legged on the ground caught his attention.

He walked over to her and crouched down to her level. Moss-green eyes stared back at him from behind a curtain of dark brown hair. Though she was as filthy as the others, she did not cower. On the contrary, she held his gaze defiantly. That surprised him.

Thomas rushed over and yanked on her rope, causing her to jerk forward. She would have fallen on her face had she not managed to balance herself on her knees. She pulled back, glaring at the slaver, and spat at his feet.

"You insolen' cur," he growled, readying his boot to kick her. But Guy intervened.

"Damage her and she won't sell well," he reminded.

The woman glanced at him, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. Guy thought she looked like an angry, feral cat, preparing to maul her aggressor. And from the wariness with which Thomas watched her, Guy had a feeling he'd run afoul of her before.

"This one won' sell well anyways," drawled the slaver. "Too wild."

"Indeed," Guy mused aloud. "I'll take her."

The girl's brows rose in surprise. Thomas' expression mirrored hers, though it was a far uglier reflection.

"You'll wha'?"

Guy stood and took the rope from Thomas' hands, untying it from the post.

"I'll take her," he repeated patiently, as though speaking to an idiot. "You said I could have one on the house, did you not?" The slaver nodded mutely. "Good," said Guy, clapping Thomas' shoulder. "I will return tomorrow for the payment you owe."

He pulled the girl to her feet and led her away from the slave market. That matted, dark hair swayed about her shoulders as she walked, with a slight limp, he noted. Several townsfolk watched her curiously but averted their gazes if she looked at them. When they reached his horse, he climbed into the saddle and urged the beast into a walk. The woman followed, the rope slack enough that it did not hurt her wrists. He didn't have to glance behind him to know that she was glaring at him. He felt the heat of it on his back. But Guy supposed he would glare, too, if in her position.

Once they were rid of Nottingham, he stopped the horse and turned in the saddle to address the girl.

"Get on."

She looked at him passively, though not dumbly. Still, perhaps she hadn't understood him.

"You," he said, pointing to her, "here." Guy patted the saddle and gestured for her to come near enough so that he could hoist her up onto it.

"I am not simple," she snapped, startling him, not with her tone but with her words. The girl correctly read his expression and snorted derisively. "Yes, I speak your language."

Indeed, she did, though with a moderate and unfamiliar accent.

He recovered from his shock and regarded her impatiently. "Then, since you understand what I say, get on the damned horse."

"No." Her chin jutted forward, as she held his gaze.

"Now is not the time to cling to whatever pride you believe you still possess," he warned.

"I have lost my family, my freedom, my home, and my livelihood," she said bitterly. "All I have left is my dignity."

Guy considered stealing that from her, too, but when he saw the fire in her eyes, he changed his mind. She had spirit, that one. On the one hand, he respected her for it. On the other hand, it irritated him. But no matter; she would entertain him well enough. And when her temperament became tiresome, he would enjoy breaking it.

He shrugged. "As you wish." His horse began to walk again, at a faster pace this time. The girl's limp grew more pronounced, and she winced every few steps yet uttered no complaint. "But I hope you don't expect a reprieve when we arrive."

"Of course not," she retorted. "I am a _slave_ now."

The words weren't spoken forlornly or piteously, but acerbically, as though they were something foul to be regurgitated. They made Guy even more curious as to who this girl had been prior to her capture. From the way she carried herself, head held high, despite her bedraggled state, one would think she had been of noble birth. If she were, then that could be rather problematic for both him and the Sheriff.

He considered questioning her but in the end, decided that he'd already behaved more leniently with her than was befitting a master to his slave. They continued on in silence after that, the only sounds the plodding of the horse's hooves and the girl's occasional stumbles.


	2. Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is friction between Guy and the girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read the author's note after the chapter. It's important regarding the OFC. And thank you for the interest in this story! It's a lot of fun to write. :)

When they arrived at Locksley Manor, Guy slid from his horse and beckoned the girl forward. She came hesitantly, looking up at him with the first hint of uncertainty he'd seen since meeting her. Withdrawing his dagger, he smirked at her gasp, but instead of using it on her, as she'd clearly expected, he cut the rope around her wrists. It fell to the ground with a soft _thud_.

The girl instantly withdrew her hands and rubbed her wrists, the skin there chafed and caked with dried blood.

"Thank you," she said, bowing her head.

He watched her for a moment, then called for Mary, the head maid, to draw the girl a bath.

"I would really rather not," she said, her eyes widening and her gaze darting from Guy to the older woman. He thought she seemed too panicky for something as simple as a bath. But perhaps she feared water, like some peasants did.

"You're filthy, and you stink," he replied impatiently. Guy grabbed her arm and pulled her towards the door.

"No, please," the girl begged, all dignity forgotten. "I can wash out back with a cloth."

His brows furrowed, and then he laughed, understanding dawning. Fear morphed into anger, as she wrenched herself out of his grasp.

"You did not acquire me for _that_ ," she spat and wrapped her dirty cloak tightly around her body.

"Calm, woman," Guy placated, still amused. "I do not intend to take you. But unless you want to sleep in the stables with the horses, I suggest you bathe."

"Horses would be preferable company," she muttered, ignoring the hardening of his features.

"Suit yourself," he ground out. Flicking his hand towards Mary, who had been nervously observing the events, Guy said, "Fetch the girl soap, a cloth, and a basin of water." He turned on the young woman, all humor gone from his face. "After you clean yourself, the maids will give you food and explain your duties."

Without waiting for a reply, he stalked inside, slamming the door behind him. He was already regretting bringing that girl back with him.

#

After an unsuccessful attempt to woo Marian, Guy returned to Locksley Manor that night in an even fouler mood than usual. The other day, she had saved his life during his ill-fated duel with Hood, and the humiliation of that defeat still stung. Not only had he been set on fire and nearly drowned by the outlaw, but he had lost the black diamonds to him, as well. In the Sheriff's eyes, it was yet another failure in a long line of them. Guy was acutely aware that he was on borrowed time.

He sat down heavily at the table and poured a goblet of wine. Downing it, he poured a second and a third in rapid succession. His servants were nowhere to be found--hiding, most likely, reluctant to encounter their master's ire. Guy didn't blame them. There were times even _he_ wished he could escape from himself.

While refilling his cup for the fourth time, a figure emerged from the kitchens and set a plate of food in front of him. He looked up. It was the girl, appearing much improved in a clean kirtle. With the grime scrubbed from her skin, he noticed it was indeed a lighter shade than that of the slaves Thomas brought back from the Holy Land. Yet it nevertheless had an olive tone, which made him wonder again about her origins. But as before, he did not ask.

"More wine," he ordered. Guy bit into the meat and grimaced. He was growing tired of mutton.

The woman returned with the pitcher and topped up his goblet. As she turned to leave, his curiosity got the better of him.

"What's your name, girl?"

"Why does it matter?" she inquired, staring down at her feet. "You seem to enjoy calling me 'girl' and 'woman' well enough."

"It matters because I am your master, and I asked you a question."

She raised her head and glared at him. There it was. That defiance. He had been waiting for it.

"If I tell you my name, that is one more thing you will have stolen from me."

He rolled his eyes, exasperated. "I did not _steal_ your freedom," Guy said condescendingly. "That was Thomas. In fact, you might be grateful to me for sparing you a harder master."

She laughed, piquing his anger.

"Thank you, my lord," came the dry reply. Accompanying it was a mocking curtsey that made his blood boil.

Quick as an adder, he caught her wrist. "You tread on dangerous ground," he warned, his voice low and ominous. He tightened his grip, feeling her delicate bones shift beneath his hand. "If you're not careful, you shall earn yourself a beating."

There was a flash of fear in her eyes, as she tried to pull away. He let her, and she stumbled back, wincing in pain.

"You would beat me?" the girl inquired. "But I thought you had kindly spared me such a master."

"Oh, believe me," drawled Guy. "Another man would have beat you already. And likely raped you, too." His gaze raked over her, lingering on her covered legs, then settled on her face again. "Thomas is an idiot, but he was right about one thing. You _are_ insolent."

"Yes, another man would have punished me by now," she replied. "But women are beaten when they obey, as well as when they disobey. So what are we to do?"

Guy considered this and reluctantly acknowledged she had a point.

"Obey," he decided. "You may still be hit, but with less frequency."

"Perhaps," the girl conceded. "But I do not think I could abide that life."

"You would have no choice," he said softly, his ill will towards her diminished.

In that moment, he pitied her. She was clearly neither a Saracen nor a woman of low birth, unlike most of the slaves Thomas acquired. She probably had a family from where ever she hailed, maybe even a husband. A life of servitude should not have been her fate.

But then he remembered his own situation. A man of noble birth, dispossessed of his lands and title by _Hood_. A slave in his own right, forced to do the Sheriff's bidding yet denied any of the glory. Spurned by Marian, despised by the people.

And disrespected by a woman in his employ.

His features darkened, startling the girl.

"From now on, you will call me 'master,'" he barked. "You will do as I say, when I say. You will not speak out of turn, or talk back. You will be the meek servant, or so help me, I shall make you suffer."

She appeared taken aback by his harsh words and was silent, staring back at him with wide eyes. But in an instant, they narrowed, and she opened her mouth.

Guy was on her before she could reply, taking her upper arms in a bruising grip.

"You are my slave, _girl_ , and don't you forget it," he hissed.

The impulse to throw her aside was strong, so consumed by anger and self-pity was he. Looming over her, he realized just how small and thin she was, just how easy it would be to demonstrate his dominance. She would fight him, of course--defiant as she was--, but he would overpower her effortlessly. A mere thrust of his arms, and she would crash into the chair. His pride would be gratified for a while, but like with every pain he had inflicted, the self-disgust would inevitably sober him.

He released her, noting that she was clutching his shirt, clearly expecting a more violent reaction. Her hands, which had turned white from the strength of her grip, loosened, and she cautiously looked up at his face. His eyes glinted coldly, but his fury had dissipated.

"You are dismissed for the night," he said tonelessly and removed her hands. "If you still insist on sleeping in the stables, find yourself a blanket."

With that, he grabbed the pitcher of wine and his goblet and ascended the stairs. Halfway up, her voice made him pause.

"Ajsa," said the girl. "My name is Ajsa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ajsa is pronounced _Ahy_ -sha, because the _j_ makes a _y_ sound and the _s_ sounds like _sh_.


	3. Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Sheriff is fun to write. Marian+Guy, not so much. 
> 
> The kudos and comments make my day a little brighter, so thank you! xo

Nobles and servants alike fled from the halls, as the Sheriff stalked down them, yelling curses that echoed through the castle. He was followed by Guy, who was oddly smiling, and a handful of guards hovering nearby to steady him if he stumbled. Which he did, when they rounded a corner. Still quite weak, he futilely slapped at the arms of his helpers, all the while muttering about "angels of death," "insane classist physicians," and "bloody Robin Hood."

The plot had been to poison Nottingham's peasants in an experiment to discover the most effective biological weapon. But, like most of Vaisey's plans, it had gone awry, resulting in his unwitting ingestion of the poison that he had intended for the poor.

The irony of that was not lost on Gisborne. On the contrary, it gave him a peculiar sort of pleasure.

That poison had nearly killed Vaisey, which was merely one of the reasons the man glared so balefully. He had been within inches of Robin Hood, but instead of _finally_ capturing him, he had been saved by him. Gisborne's smile morphed into a smirk. That had to sting the Sheriff's pride.

"Wipe that smug look off your face, Gisborne, or I'll cut it off," Vaisey snapped.

Guy didn't. For once, it hadn't been _his_ failure that had allowed Hood to escape, and he'd be damned if he wouldn't enjoy the moment.

"Apologies, my lord," he replied, not sounding regretful at all. "Shall I send men after him?"

"Has being jilted by the leper made you stupid, as well as pathetic?" inquired the Sheriff. "Of course you should send men after him! You should have _sent_ men after him already!"

Guy gave the order but didn't accompany the search parties. They wouldn't find the outlaw anyway. They never did.

"Anything else, my lord?"

Vaisey rounded on him, his eyes half-crazed from anger or near-death, Guy didn't know.

"Yes," hissed the Sheriff. "Find me a competent henchman, because you are utterly useless. Hood was _right there_ , and you couldn't catch him."

Amusement danced in Gisborne's eyes, as he surveyed the bald man in front of him. "With respect, my lord, but neither could you. Or was that not the reason you were dangling head-first out the window?" Vaisey looked like he would spit fire, and before he could retort, Guy continued. "I might have caught him, had I not been hauling you back inside. But the next time, I shall remember to let you fall."

Vaisey turned a reddish-purple hue, but the sudden lurch of his stomach took precedence over whatever threat he might have levied at Guy. Bending double, he retched, only narrowly avoiding Gisborne's boots.

"Take the Sheriff to his chambers," Guy commanded, disgusted. "And find someone to clean up that mess."

He watched two guards half-carry a belligerent Vaisey up the stairs, then headed outside to supervise the disposal of Joseph's body. Townspeople had gathered around it, observing the bloodied, mangled form with a perverse fascination. Gisborne was no stranger to horrific sights, but the unnatural angle of the man's neck unsettled him.

When the peasants noticed Guy's approach, they parted. Mothers clutched their children, while men hurled insults at him, condemning him a murderer and the Devil's right hand man. He pushed past them, roughly shoving aside the most vehement of the protestors.

"I was not the one who poisoned you," he snarled and pointed at Joseph. " _He_ was."

Guy didn't know why he even bothered to defend himself; those louts would hate him regardless. Nevertheless, he didn't fancy being blamed for a crime he did not commit. God knew there were enough sins damning his soul as it was.

He allowed them a moment to spit on Joseph's dead body, before ordering the guards to herd them away.

"Get rid of him," he barked to the soldiers. "Bury him, burn him, toss him in the river...just make him disappear."

On his way back to the castle, he encountered Marian, shadowed by her "goon," as she called her guard. He regarded her coolly, his self-esteem still smarting from her most recent rebuff.

"Guy, I wanted to apologize for earlier," she said, looking up at him earnestly. Her blue eyes were soft, and he could almost pretend they held a glimmer of affection. "I was concerned about the people and mistakenly blamed you for their misfortune."

"You wouldn't be the only one," he murmured.

"No, I suppose not," she agreed. Marian glanced at the angry crowd trying to reach Joseph. "Their response is not unprovoked, though. Surely you realize that." His features darkened, and she amended her statement. "I do not mean they should react with violence, of course, but they suffered terribly at the hands of that madman."

Whether she was referring to Joseph or to the Sheriff, Guy didn't know, nor did he wish to. If she publically spoke ill of the Sheriff, Guy would be forced to take action, and then she would surely despise him. As it was, she wasn't terribly fond of him after he had torched her house.

"Life _is_ suffering, Marian," he said brusquely. "The sooner you learn that, the better."

Whatever kindness she had felt towards him vanished, along with the almost-affection he had seen in her eyes.

"My home has been reduced to ash, my father is imprisoned, and I am confined to the castle, with a goon breathing down my neck at all hours," she retorted. "I am no stranger to unhappiness as of late."

"Be thankful you do not share your father's cell," Guy warned. "If it were up to the Sheriff, that's exactly what your fate would have been. It was only my intervention that spared you from it."

Marian sighed, and just like that, her demeanor towards him had changed.

"I know, Guy," she said. "And I thank you. But it still pains me to think of my father in that cold, dank place."

"I have already instructed the prison guards to feed him properly," Guy told her. "There is nothing else I can do to make him more comfortable."

"You could persuade the Sheriff to release him."

"I cannot, Marian, and you know it." Guy was acutely aware that freeing her father would earn him her gratitude, but once again, he was torn between his ambitions and his affections.

"And you say you want power?" she scoffed. "You couldn't even stop the Sheriff from imprisoning my father after I had saved your life."

Guilt warred with anger, and, as usual, anger won.

"You will never let me forget that, will you?" Guy snarled. "How many times have I intervened on your behalf? How many times have I turned a blind eye to your transgressions?" He advanced on her, his gaze as hard as his tone. "You are so keen to remind me of my debt to you, while conveniently forgetting yours to me."

She opened her mouth to reply, but Guy stormed past her, calling to a guard over his shoulder to escort the Lady Marian to her quarters. He had endured his fair share of humiliation from other knights, Hood, and the Sheriff, but he refused to tolerate it from Marian, as well. She was a woman, and she would learn her place, or would suffer the consequences.

#

It was late, nearly midnight, when Guy rode up to Locksley Manor. After the Sheriff had recovered from his poisoning, he spent hours berating Gisborne and cursing Hood, until Guy had managed to change the subject to what should be done about the outlaw. Nothing particularly clever was suggested by either of them, because they had already tried and failed at countless schemes, so they stewed in silence over their respective predicaments. It didn't take long for Vaisey to tire of this brooding, and he sent Gisborne away with the typical warning--he must kill Hood, or else the knight's usefulness would be at an end.

Little did that vile man know, Guy had just saved his scrawny neck. And what did he receive in return? Insults and threats. He had grown tired of them, which was why he'd employed Allan as his spy. With the information the turncoat provided, Guy would be one step ahead of the outlaw and would _finally_ be rewarded with the recognition he deserved.

Lost in these thoughts, he nearly missed the figure standing to the side of the house, gazing up at the inky sky.

It was the girl. Ajsa.

"Shouldn't you be asleep?"

"Shouldn't you be at the castle?"

He sighed, suddenly quite weary, and sent his horse to its stall with the groom.

"You have early hours, Ajsa," Guy reminded her. "I shall not be lenient if you awaken late because you were staring up at the sky when you should have been sleeping."

"I am not a child to be ordered to bed," she protested, but her tone lacked venom. Her attention was still on the stars, that dark hair shrouding part of her face.

"No," he agreed and stood in front of her. "But you _are_ my servant. And as such, you will do as I say."

She looked at him, then, her features discernible in the light of the gibbous moon. Guy couldn't help but notice the sad glimmer in her eyes or the wetness on her cheeks.

"Of course, Master."

There was no mockery in her acquiescence or in her curtsey, as she gathered her skirts and walked into the house. In fact, she had sounded like his other servants, obliging and resigned.

"Wait." She stopped but didn't turn, not even when his footsteps grew nearer. "How did you get that limp?"

Although it had improved since his acquisition of Ajsa, he knew it still pained her.

"Broken ankle," she said tonelessly. "May I go inside now?"

Guy wanted to ask if Thomas had been the cause of her injury but instead said, "Yes, get to bed."

He watched the girl collect her flimsy shawl and retreat into the small room off the kitchen. Guy smirked. After three nights, it appeared she had grown tired of sleeping in the stables. Well, that was progress, at least, because she had overcome enough of her pride to accept the relative comfort of the servant's quarters.


	4. Witches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little by little, we learn about Ajsa. Hint: I write nothing without good reason.

Ajsa watched aghast as the chair was submerged. Soldiers were gathered around the pond in the center of Locksley, with the Sheriff and Guy of Gisborne sitting at the crux of them. Even from the other side of the pond, she could see the bald man's glee. Mary and the other servants had told her about Vaisey, how he'd once ordered Gisborne to cut out villagers' tongues, until someone would confess Robin Hood's whereabouts. No one had, but apparently it had been Robin himself who had saved the day. Ajsa had expected that. She'd heard whispers of the beloved outlaw even before Guy had acquired her, and he seemed almost too good to be true. So of course, like the other villagers, she was waiting for him to stop this madness, as well.

A woman's angry shouts drew her attention. She had been condemned as a witch, Ajsa knew. And the punishment for that was dunking. It wasn't the first time the girl had witnessed it, but she was no less appalled now than that first time, all those years ago.

While her fellow servants wondered if the woman really _was_ a witch, Ajsa was certain the Sheriff had merely created the charges on a whim. There was no gravity surrounding this dunking, nor was there a priest present. On the contrary, the atmosphere--for Vaisey, at least--was jovial, though Gisborne's disposition spoke of boredom, as he absently took the grape his superior proffered him.

The second dunking lasted longer than the first, and when the poor woman was finally brought back up, Ajsa feared the worst. Then a scream pierced the tension, startling even Guy and the Sheriff, who, quite disturbed now, quickly ordered her to be submerged again. Another interminable wait followed, the anticipatory silence broken only by the murmurs of the villagers, then the chair was raised a third time. But the body was missing.

The onlookers gasped. Some made the sign of the cross, while others glanced around fearfully, as though expecting to see Satan himself, with the purported witch by his side. The Sheriff looked furious, and Gisborne shouted a command, but a brunette woman, who Ajsa had not noticed before, was grinning. She was rather pretty, and after Guy had finished with the guards, he joined her.

Considering the horrors she had heard about the man, Ajsa was surprised to see his features transfigured when he spoke to the woman. Gone was the hard expression; it had been replaced with one infinitely softer. So the Devil's henchman had a heart after all, she thought, and it was ensnared by the pretty brunette.

"Come, Ajsa, back ta yer duties," said Mary, herding her towards the house with a hand between her shoulder blades. "If the Master returns and sees ye idle, he won' be 'appy."

But he did not appear very happy now either, Ajsa noted, as she glanced at him over her shoulder. The woman was riding away, leaving a scowling Gisborne in her horse's dusty wake. The girl smiled, instantly liking anyone who could make her _master_ resemble a jilted lover.

If Ajsa resumed scrubbing the floors with a touch more enthusiasm than was befitting the chore, the other servants attributed it to her strange, foreign ways.

#

Much later, when Gisborne arrived at Locksley Manor, he wasn't surprised that the slave girl sat with her face upturned to the sky. This was how he had found her nearly every night lately. Stabling his stallion, he walked over to her, looming above her seated frame.

"Will you finally explain what is so damnably fascinating about those stars?"

She didn't look at him, as she said, "They change."

Instinctively, he glanced up but caught himself and reverted his attention to Ajsa. She seemed sad again, though mercifully did not appear to have cried tonight.

"Of course they change," he retorted. "The seasons change, too. Do you also marvel at the turning leaves and the falling snow?"

 _Now_ she looked at him, those moss-green eyes suddenly alight with anger.

"Have you ever been wrenched from your home?" she inquired acerbically. "From your family, your kin?"

"Actually, I have," he replied, regarding her coolly. "Your...circumstance is not a happy one, I grant you that, but do not think you are unique in your suffering."

"Oh, no," Ajsa said dryly. "How unfortunate you are to be a free man, to have wealth and position and a home to call your own."

Guy hauled her up and grasped her chin, forcing her gaze to meet his.

"You know _nothing_ ," he spat. Her previously mocking expression had given way to a cautious curiosity, which only enraged him further. "My life is neither comfortable nor easy, and I have done things that would quell even your defiant spirit." His hand trailed down her neck, gloved fingers caressing the hollow of her throat. "I have been patient thus far, but I warn you to be careful with the liberties you take. One day soon, I might not be quite so tolerant."

"Yes, well, until that day dawns, I will continue to assert what little freedom I have."

Despite knowing that the stroking hand could just as easily squeeze, Ajsa did not oblige him with the subservience he had obviously expected. His eyes darkened dangerously.

"Why do you not fear me?" he demanded.

The hand on her neck tightened into a fist, and for an instant, she was afraid he might hit her with it. But it merely withdrew to his side harmlessly.

"I do not fear you because one who has lost everything has nothing left to lose," she replied, her voice strangely hollow.

The sudden change in her demeanor perplexed Gisborne, as just seconds ago, she had been glaring at him with her head held high. Now she appeared to fold in on herself, her arms hugging her still-thin frame. Before he could reply, she stepped away from him.

"By your leave, Master, I would retire now."

He considered making her stay and answer his multitude of questions, but he was worried that would result in tears. And if there was one thing Gisborne could stomach less than Hood and Vaisey, it was a weeping woman.

He waved his hand, dismissing her. She hurried inside and shut the door behind her. Guy stared at the spot she had vacated, lost, against his better judgment, in theories about Ajsa.


	5. Honey and Cinnamon Butter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ajsa reveals a tiny bit more about her origins, while Guy tries something new. 
> 
> Also, Alan is a lot of fun to write, so expect to see more of him.

Marian was gone, had sneaked away to a bloody convent, only to return days later and kiss him, before leaving again. It had been a week since that day, since that perfect moment when Guy had actually believed she would finally be with him. He had been an idiot to take a grieving woman's actions seriously.

Still, the thought of her giving herself to God, of being _married_ to God, filled him with a mixture of amusement, despair, and scorn.

"A nun," he scoffed, drinking deeply from his goblet. It was barely seven in the morning, and he was already halfway through a pitcher of wine.

"Sorry?" came a voice from behind him. Guy looked up as Ajsa set a plate of food in front of him. With her limp gone, the girl moved so quietly that he had forgotten about her.

"Nothing," he grunted and picked up the slice of bread. The butter looked different, darker than usual, almost brownish. He sniffed it, fearing it had spoiled, and recoiled in surprise.

For the first time since acquiring her, Guy heard Ajsa laugh. The giggles were louder than he had expected from such a small woman, but against his better judgment, he found himself liking them.

"I mixed in honey and cinnamon," she explained, sitting across from him. He stared at her, eyebrows raised at her brazenness. Obviously, no one had informed her that servants did not sit with masters. "It is one of the ways my village made butter."

"Your village," Guy repeated, one brow arching. "And where is that?"

Her humor vanished, and a stoic expression replaced it.

"Far away," she said, then stood abruptly. Ajsa reached for his plate, but he caught her wrist.

"I didn't say I did not like it." Their gazes met. For an instant, Guy thought he saw a flash of relief on her face, but the cool mask reappeared before he could verify the subtle emotion. "But don't make it too often, mind. Cinnamon isn't cheap."

"Yes, my lord," she said and pulled her arm away to curtsey.

Ajsa had been remarkably well-behaved lately, a fact which both pleased and discomfited Gisborne. He would be lying if he said he hadn't secretly enjoyed her impudence. It reminded him of Marian.

"Oh, and if you are concerned that the Lady Marian will become a nun, worry not," she said wryly. "I have known many nuns, and she is much too spirited to take orders from God."

"How do you know about that?" Guy demanded.

She gave him an exasperated look. Apparently not _all_ her impertinence had departed, as he'd supposed.

"How else do you think servants pass the time?" she inquired. "We gossip. Besides, I overheard you and Alan-A-Dale the night Lady Marian left."

"You should not be eavesdropping on my private conversations," he growled, but the reprimand was half-hearted, and they both knew it.

"Believe me, my lord, I do not do so intentionally," Ajsa quipped, and from her tone, he suspected she was implying more than she was saying. "But the next time he is here, I shall go outside to avoid accidentally overhearing anything."

Now it was his turn to be exasperated. "Get to your duties, girl," he snapped. "And bring me another jug of wine."

"Yes, my lord." She curtseyed again, no hint of mocking in her reply or mannerisms, yet he couldn't shake the feeling that she was nevertheless laughing at him.

Guy sighed. The woman was often more effort than she was worth. But another taste of the honey and cinnamon butter had him reconsidering that thought.

#

Locksley Manor was a flurry of activity, as the servants cleaned, cooked, and prepared for Gisborne's birthday celebration. Ajsa was setting down the massive plates of food, when Alan entered. He whistled, his eyes widening as he took in the room.

"You've gone all out, then, haven' ya?"

"Sir Guy's orders," she replied and turned to retrieve more of the food.

Alan followed, watching her balance two large, silver platters with all sorts of meat on them. He took one of the platters and winked at her.

"Giz'll have your head if you drop one of those."

Ajsa gave him a withering look but did not refuse the help.

"I was not going to drop it," she insisted.

Alan grinned. "Then consider it an act of chivalry for chivalry's sake."

"Chivalry," she snorted. "It has indeed been a long time since I have experienced _that_."

"Oi! I'm plenty chivalrous," he protested. "And I'd be even more chivalrous if you'd let me."

"Alan!" came Gisborne's shout.

"I think our master will appreciate your chivalry better than I," remarked Ajsa. The hint of a smile played upon her lips, intriguing Alan.

"Nah, you're at least gentle in your rebuffs," he said. Gisborne's shout sounded more impatient this time. "Anyway, I'll see ya later."

"That is inevitable," she replied and returned to setting the table.

A few hours later, the guests began to arrive. Ajsa remained in the kitchen whenever she could, especially once the Sheriff showed up, but with Mary and the other servants occupied with their own tasks, she was often saddled with wine duty.

"A new servant, Gisborne?" asked Vaisey, while Ajsa refilled his goblet.

Guy was relieved that for once, she kept her head bowed and her mouth shut.

"Yes," he replied. "She does her work well."

The Sheriff's gaze traveled over her body, lingering on her hips and breasts, before settling on her face.

"Yes, I'm sure she does," he said. "It's good you've found a pretty distraction from the leper. You were becoming even sulkier than usual."

Gisborne drained his goblet and motioned to Ajsa for more wine. He didn't like the glint in Vaisey's eyes as he watched her, which was ridiculous, because she was a mere slave. Men regularly bedded female servants; that was one of low-born women's uses, or so he was meant to believe. But for a reason he could not explain, he felt that Ajsa was different. She had _been_ someone before her capture, someone of importance and perhaps even of status. And that, coupled with her saucy personality, reminded him too much of Marian for comfort.

"She's a good distraction," he agreed, glancing at the girl out of the corner of his eye. She remained blessedly silent. And soon, Vaisey moved onto the topic of taxes, allowing Ajsa to slip away unnoticed.

After that, the celebration went downhill. Ajsa only knew what she overheard--a one-legged messenger evading capture, Robin Hood, Lardner's ring, and a fool who dealt in tricks. And now Guy and his men, including Alan, were taking the villagers' rings and threatening to cut off their fingers. She observed the scene from the stables, witnessing Gisborne's cruelty for the first time. She had heard stories of it, of course, and first-hand accounts of it, as well, but seeing it for herself gave her much food for thought.

Such as why he had not used violence to force _her_ into obedience.

When the sand in the hourglass ran out, Ajsa went back inside the house to help clean up the feast. There would be no more need for it, and she preferred not to watch Gisborne cut off a woman's finger. For a moment, she paused at the door, considering whether she should try to help the villager. But it was ludicrous to believe that Gisborne would listen to a slave. So she grabbed a rag and began wiping down the tables, feeling supremely guilty for possessing all ten fingers.


	6. Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guy and Ajsa have a heart-to-heart. Sort of. 
> 
> Takes place directly after "Walkabout."

Gisborne watched Ajsa clear the table, his signature glower hardening his handsome face. He was frustrated, as was the pattern lately, but there was hurt mixed in with the irritation, as well. How many times was Marian going to refuse him? What more could he do to prove his sincerity? He had returned to face Prince John's troops with her; he had returned to face certain death. Was that not evidence enough of his love for her?

"More wine, Sir Guy?" offered Ajsa.

He looked up at the silver decanter held towards him.

"Yes," he snapped. His other servants would have shrunk away, but Ajsa merely refilled his goblet and observed him with a thoughtful expression. It irked him while it intrigued him. "Stop staring, girl, and get to your duties."

"It is nearly midnight, so I do not have duties," she replied, unruffled by his biting tone. Gisborne wasn't even surprised when she sat down across from him. "You are troubled."

"And _you_ are presumptuous," he retorted.

"Yes," she agreed, the hint of a smile forming on her lips. "But I do not see anyone else willing to listen."

He glared at her. "I never said I wanted to talk."

"No, but you do."

Gisborne downed his wine, then regarded her with a raised brow.

"You sound so sure of that," he said. "Were you a mind-reader before becoming a slave?"

Ajsa's face fell, the subtle smile morphing into a frown. She stood and pushed back the bench, but Guy's hand on hers made her pause.

"I may be presumptuous and insolent, but at least I care that you are troubled." Although her head was bowed, he saw a tear trickle down her cheek. "You, on the other hand, have not ceased to taunt me since you acquired me."

"I'm your master," he reminded her. "You are mine to do with as I wish." Ajsa tried to leave, but he gripped her hand. "Sit."

Gisborne knew that all she wanted to do was to get away from him, but after Marian's rejection and the day's events, he was glad for the company. After she sat down, he refilled his goblet and pushed it towards her.

"Drink," he commanded. She did, and Guy couldn't help but notice the way her throat moved as she swallowed or the slight stain of the wine on her lips. Denied female companionship for so long, he felt himself stirring at the sight. "Tell me about your home."

Ajsa appeared startled by his words, her eyes widening as she looked at him. He raised his eyebrows expectantly yet knew she would not cooperate immediately.

"Why?"

"You are an infuriating woman," he sighed. "Has anyone ever told you that?"

"Yes," she said. "Now answer my question."

"Insolent, too," he muttered and took a long drink of the wine. "You wanted to talk, so talk."

"No," she said, crossing her arms across her chest. "You will only mock me."

Gisborne smirked. "Perhaps, but it's due time you explained why you're different from the other slaves."

"I am more foolish."

"Yes," he agreed, nodding. "But I want to know _why_."

Ajsa was silent, gazing intently at a knick in the wooden table. He waited with the semblance of patience, while she considered her next action. Finally, she uncrossed her arms and looked at him.

"I was the village healer in Orosháza in the Kingdom of Hungary."

Guy didn't know what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn't _that_.

"How very anticlimactic," he drawled. "From the way you carried yourself, I'd expected you to have been at least a lesser noble."

"How do you know I am not?"

Gisborne laughed. "Because nobles do not become healers, and healers do not become nobles."

"Not in your narrow-minded view of the world, no," she said, aware of but ignoring the darkening of his features. "My father was important to the king, so he was given lands and a title."

"Damn it," he growled, his hands clenching into fists.

"There is no need to panic," she assured him, correctly ascertaining his thoughts. "My father will not come for me."

"He didn't _sell_ you to Thomas, did he?"

Ajsa regarded him with mild amusement at his dismay.

"No," she replied. "He is dead."

His fists unclenched. Whatever exasperation he had felt towards her had vanished. He knew all too well the pain of losing a parent.

"Mine, too," he said softly. "As is my mother."

She nodded, but whether in agreement or acknowledgement, he did not know. Before he could ask, however, she stood.

"It is late," she said. "And as you never cease to remind me, my tasks begin early."

Guy didn't respond, merely watched her retreat through the kitchen into the servants' quarters. He had made no grand confessions about Marian, yet somehow, he felt more content.


	7. Harbor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gisborne sets off for the Holy Land and meets someone not wholly unexpected upon his return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...now that the question of Ajsa's origins has been answered, I can explain them a bit. Orosháza is a real city in southeast Hungary. In the Middle Ages, particularly prior to the Mongol Invasion of 1242-1243, it was one of the most important settlements in Hungary, especially in southeast Hungary. Nobles were determined quite differently in early medieval Hungary than elsewhere in Europe at the time. Whereas knights and chivalry were deemed important in medieval Europe, it was land ownership that set apart the nobility from the lower classes in Hungary. Thus, a peasant or a blacksmith could become a noble if the king gave him land. Ajsa's name, as well as her appearance, is a throwback to early medieval Hungary, because it reflects Hungary's eastern/Iranian influence during the early Middle Ages.

When Ajsa returned from the market, Locksley Manor was a bustle of activity. Thornton, Gisborne's manservant, was hauling a medium-sized trunk downstairs, while Mary was wrapping a loaf of bread in a cloth.

Alan followed Thornton, carrying a much smaller chest. From the way its contents clinked, Ajsa guessed it contained Gisborne's money.

"Has Robin Hood finally reclaimed the manor?" she inquired, only half seriously.

Alan's brows furrowed. "Why d'ya ask that?'

"Because Sir Guy's things are being taken away."

"He's, uh, leavin' for a while," Alan said haltingly. "Actually, we both are."

"Really? Where are you going?"

"I can't exactly tell ya that, now can I?" Alan said, with a wink.

Ajsa frowned. "On the Sheriff's business, then," she deduced. "That does not bode well."

Gisborne descended the stairs, his expression stormy.

"If you're finished flirting with the slave, Alan, we've got places to be," he snapped.

Alan flashed her an apologetic smile and went to saddle the horses. Guy stopped before Ajsa, his features softening the tiniest bit.

"Keep to your duties while I'm gone," he instructed. "Don't even think of trying to escape, because you _will_ be found. And I assure you, the slave-catchers are far less merciful than I am."

"I will not escape," she said tonelessly.

Gisborne smirked. "Don't lie to me, girl. I saw that calculating look when Alan told you we were leaving."

Ajsa's lips twitched, but her face remained the picture of innocence.

"Perhaps you should ration your wine, my lord, for you are surely mistaken."

"Fair warning," he said, shrugging. "If you're caught, don't expect me to rescue you. As it is, you've been more trouble than worth."

"So you remind me daily," she quipped and bent into a curtsey. "Safe travels, Master."

Guy watched her retreat into the kitchen, the barest of smiles lingering on his lips.

#

Dartmouth harbor made Ajsa nervous. She tried to navigate through the port as quickly and covertly as possible, but the hoards of unwashed sailors nevertheless leered at her. She pulled her cloak tighter around her body and kept her head down, wishing for a spell of invisibility.

Ajsa was stepping onto the gangplank of the ship that would carry her to freedom, when a familiar, gruff voice had her stumbling. If the man behind her hadn't gripped her arm, she would have toppled into the water.

"Hurry up, Gisborne, or I'll leave your drunk arse here to rot!"

Her head shot up, her eyes wide with shock.

"Ye all right, miss?" asked the man who had caught her.

She nodded absently, her gaze fixed on the large man following Vaisey off the neighboring ship. His gait was uncertain, as was the Sheriff's, but he looked particularly unwell. Even from a distance, Ajsa noted his greasy hair, unkempt beard, and haggard appearance.

"Yes, I am fine," she answered finally.

The woman was about to continue up the gangplank, but Gisborne's gaze alighted upon her. She froze. The man behind her gave her a gentle push, but her legs refused to work.

And then Guy was striding towards her ship, his expression as murderous as she had ever seen it. Clutching the hem of her kirtle, Ajsa hurried up the walkway, but a hand on her shoulder roughly yanked her backwards.

"Where do you think you're going?" snarled Gisborne in her ear. He was so close that she could feel the prickle of his beard on her neck. "You're not escaping, are you?"

He swung her around, heedless of the curious stares. Ajsa could see just how haggard he was. The black leather that had previously fitted him like a glove hung loosely on his frame. His cheekbones were sharper, accentuating the dark circles beneath his eyes. But it was the hollowness in his gaze that startled her the most. She had known him to be a passionate man, but now, staring down at her, even his anger lacked fire.

"What has happened to you?" she asked.

His brows furrowed, as if he were confused by her question, and a heart-achingly sad look flashed in his eyes. But instead of replying, Gisborne grasped her wrist and led her down the gangplank towards the waiting carriage. The Sheriff, who had been impatiently sitting inside, brightened.

"Ah, the pretty servant," he remarked, his bejeweled tooth glinting in the sunlight. "Not such a good worker, after all, then. I do hope you'll punish her, Gisborne. It may even make you feel better."

Guy grunted and glared through the bars of the carriage as it set off. Ajsa sat uncomfortably beside him, wary of Vaisey's gleeful gaze, and prayed that the next 200 miles would pass uneventfully. However, the current moods of her travel companions suggested otherwise.


	8. Vulnerable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ajsa sees a side of Gisborne she never expected.

By the time the trio reached Nottingham, even the Sheriff's mood had soured. It had been a long, slow journey, full of reluctant conversations and tense silences. Adding to the travelers' discomfort was a massive storm that produced fierce flashes of lightning and culminated in a flooding of the roads. The driver was anxious to stop, lest the wagon become mired in mud, but Vaisey refused. For once, Guy and Ajsa were glad for the Sheriff's brute insistence. Though the wind beat the rain through the bars of the carriage, soaking the occupants, they were all three impatient to part company with each other.

Ajsa spent much of the trip stewing in frustration. She'd been so close to freedom, so close to reclaiming her previous life, that the disappointment ate away at her like acid. If she had made it onto that ship, she, too, would be going home. She would be rid of damp England and of her surly master. What was the phrase he always used in reference to her? More trouble than she's worth. Well, the sentiment was heartily returned.

Yet now, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, she wondered if perhaps she had been mistaken about him. The angry, confident man had disappeared, leaving behind a hollow shell that looked as if it were about to collapse in on itself. What had caused such a deterioration, Ajsa did not know. He hadn't risen to Vaisey's provocation, despite the bald man's repeated attempts. In fact, he had not spoken more than a handful of words the entire journey, opting instead to stare at the passing scenery or to close his eyes. But from the rate of his breathing, Ajsa knew he did not sleep.

The wagon came to a halt in the courtyard of Nottingham Castle. Vaisey sprang out and began barking commands at his guards and servants. But Ajsa's attention was on Gisborne, who hadn't moved in over an hour.

"We've arrived, Sir Guy," she informed him warily.

He unfolded those long limbs and stepped out of the carriage. A groom brought him his stallion, and without so much as a backwards glance at her, he mounted and rode off. Ajsa was left standing in the center of the courtyard, fury coursing through her disheveled frame. Kicking the wheel of the wagon, she cursed violently in Hungarian. Some of the soldiers eyed her with amusement; others, with surprise, for they did not need to understand her words to understand their meaning.

'Oi, sweetheart!" called one of the guards. "I may not be no fancy knight like Sir Guy, but I sure won' leave ya behind."

Ajsa whirled on the man and glared at him.

"I am not a whore," she snapped.

"Aye, maybe not," he replied, smirking lasciviously. "But ya've got the mouth o' one."

Another soldier joined in, his gaze raking over her figure.

"Not the body, though," he commented critically. "Too skinny and small, if ya get my meanin'."

Ajsa did indeed get his meaning, and she was not amused. However, quite aware of her own vulnerability, she bit her tongue to keep from reacting. Taking a deep breath, she spun on her heel and walked away, the men's lecherous jeers accompanying her far past the gate of the castle.

#

Hours later, when Ajsa walked through the door of Locksley Manor, the house appeared to be devoid of people. The servants were gone, and Guy was nowhere to be seen. But a _thud_ from above disproved her initial observation.

She ascended the stairs and peeked into the largest bedroom. Gisborne was sat on the floor, half-dressed, his head in his hands. The woman watched him for a few seconds, before cautiously entering. As she drew nearer, the scent of wine pervaded the air around him, seemingly clinging to his person. Glimpsing the burgundy-colored stain that extended from his chin to his bellybutton, Ajsa reckoned that the stench really _was_ clinging to him.

"You spilled wine on yourself," she remarked.

Gisborne acknowledged neither her presence nor her words. Sighing, she dipped a cloth into the water basin and crouched in front of him.

"You must sit up straight if I am to wipe away that wine," she said tonelessly. Guy didn't move. Ajsa hesitantly touched his shoulder, but he shrugged away. "Very well. Continue to stink of wine, then."

She was about to stand, when a hand on her knee stayed her. Ajsa's breath faltered at the sight that greeted her. Eyes that had once been crystal blue were now red-rimmed and clouded with something frighteningly akin to grief. She did not know what shocked her more, the fact that Gisborne could feel sorrow or that he seemed to be reaching out to her.

"May I, uh..."

Ajsa gestured to his bare torso and received the barest of nods. She felt his gaze on her while she worked. It unnerved her, but she tried to ignore it. The pale skin mere centimeters away, however, was more difficult to ignore. His current haggard appearance aside, Guy was a handsome man with an incredibly powerful frame, even, apparently, when he had lost a significant amount of weight.

"Thank you," he murmured, once she had finished.

Resisting the urge to gape at him, Ajsa returned the cloth to the basin and stood awkwardly against the bedpost. In the many months that she'd been working for him, she could not recall a time when he had thanked anyone, let alone the foreign slave.

"You are surely laughing at me." His tone was bitter, his words tinged with only the slightest slur to betray his drunkenness.

"Why would I do that?" she inquired.

"Why? Because I dribbled wine all down my front." A humorless laugh escaped him, and he hung his head. "How satisfying it must be for you to see me so effaced, to see your cruel master wallowing in wine and self-pity."

Whatever anger she had felt towards him for leaving her in Nottingham faded. Walking towards him, she knelt in front of him again.

"It is not very satisfying," she said softly.

He scoffed and fixed her with look of scornful disbelief.

"Oh come now, Ajsa. You cannot tell me you're not pleased to see me stripped of my dignity."

"But I can," she replied gently, "Because it is the truth. I do not find pleasure in another's pain." Her voice turned acerbic for an instant, as resentment swelled in her chest. "Not even in _your_ pain."

That mirthless laugh again.

"Ajsa, Ajsa, Ajsa," he chanted, shaking his head and smiling. "You are a Hungarian saint. I treat you abominably and abandon you at the castle, yet here you are, cleaning up my mess and showing me kindness."

Her eyes narrowed. The words were flattering; the inflection, less so.

"Mock me if you will," she retorted. "You can say nothing that will injure me."

"No?" he questioned, arching a curious brow. "And what if I remind you of how far from home you are? Or of how different the stars look above England than above Hungary? Or of how I dragged you back to a life of servitude right when you were about to escape it?"

Ajsa stood. "You are drunk," she said brusquely. Gripping his arm, she yanked it hard enough to pull him to his feet. "I suggest you sleep it off before the Sheriff requests your presence again."

To her surprise, Gisborne allowed himself to be led towards the bed, but instead of lying on it, he sat upon it, bringing Ajsa down with him.

"I cannot sleep," he said raggedly.

She tried to scoot away from him, but his arm around her waist kept her by his side.

"I can mix you a sleeping draught."

"No. No sleeping draughts," he spat. "I don't deserve peace. I deserve to be haunted by demonic visions."

Ajsa's demeanor softened, and she placed a hand on his thigh.

"What has happened to you?" she asked, echoing her question to him on the docks.

"Nothing," he whispered. "It is that _I_ have happened to others."

Guy laid down, then, curling in on himself, as though trying to make himself as small and as insignificant as possible. Ajsa remained seated on the bed, unsure of what to do next. Her answer came soon enough, though, when Gisborne caught her gaze over his shoulder.

"Lie with me."

It was not a command. It was a plea.

For the first time since meeting him in the slave market, Ajsa's heart went out to Guy. Gone were his usual pride and the impatience with which he normally regarded her. They were replaced by a timid hopefulness that reminded Ajsa of a lost, little boy.

"Of course, my lord," she said and settled behind him.

"Don't call me that," he requested. "Just call me Guy."

"Very well...Guy."

The name sounded foreign and almost illicit on her tongue, but she repeated it again, because it seemed to calm him. They laid motionless for hours, Gisborne lost in his personal hell and Ajsa listening to his breathing.

She had nearly drifted off, when a quiet, deep voice floated into her sleepy haze.

"Thank you, Ajsa."


	9. Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A storm rages inside and outside.

The months had not been kind to Gisborne, nor Gisborne to them. Ajsa watched him sink ever deeper into an abyss of anger and drink, anguish and sleepless nights. He walked around the manor as though he were a shade. He barely ate, barely spoke, and when he was not at the castle doing the Sheriff's bidding, he was lying on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. His passion was extinguished; his ambition, withered. Those sharp, expressive eyes were now dull and cold.

Although Gisborne had sought a semblance of comfort in her, Ajsa actually had very little idea of what tormented him so. The other servants whispered amongst themselves--rumors, most likely--truths, perhaps. They said Alan had rejoined Robin Hood, who had gone rogue after returning from the Holy Land. That much she'd been able to glean from Guy, as well, but precisely _what_ had caused such turmoil, she did not know.

But she suspected.

Gisborne sometimes cried out at night. A woman's name. _Marian_. When Ajsa had asked him about her, he'd reacted violently. The wall still bore a dark red stain where his goblet of wine had struck it. She held her tongue on the matter after that, and if Guy had been less mired in his guilt and grief, he might have noticed.

It was on a stormy night, exactly three months since the event, that she would finally discover the terrible truth.

"Did you have someone back in Hungary?"

Ajsa looked up, startled, from the shirt she was mending. Gisborne had torn it during a drunken brawl in the tavern. When Vaisey learned of the incident, he'd nearly torn it further with the point of his sword.

"I was...," she trailed off, her glance darting from one piece of furniture to the next. Aside from the time they had commiserated over losing their fathers, he'd shown little interest in her personal life. As a result, Ajsa was at a loss for words.

"I had...family," she finally said.

Instead of the mocking reply she was expecting, Gisborne asked, "And a husband?"

"If I did, I certainly do not anymore," she retorted, with a glare in his direction. However, he seemed oblivious to it.

"Did you love him? Surely you must have." Guy paused, his face transfixed into an expression so tender that it made Ajsa's heart skip a beat. "And he would come after you, rescue you from my clutches. He would take you back home, where you would be together and happy."

His eyes shone with something wistful, and Ajsa realized she had never been the focus of his attention. Grasping this rare moment of calm, she ventured into potentially dangerous territory.

"Where is Marian, Guy?"

He looked at her. For an instant, his features were still soft, and she marveled at that softness directed towards her. Then they hardened in an alarmingly familiar manner.

"That is not your concern," he snapped. "You will address me as Sir Guy, my lord, or master, for that is what I am. How many times must I demand this of you?" Gisborne stood and advanced upon her, looming over her seated figure. A flash of lightning illuminated his sneer. "Do not confuse a moment of vulnerability with equality. You are not my equal, and you never shall be."

Ajsa met his gaze unflinchingly. The fire in his breast had been rekindled, if only temporarily, but she would not balk at it.

"And you wonder why she does not want you?"

A deafening crack of thunder rattled the windows, like a harbinger of her doom. His hand rose, poised to strike. She braced herself.

But the blow never came.

He collapsed at her feet, his face shrouded by the black of his hair. A hitched breath, a sob, and before Ajsa knew what she was doing, her fingers were in those long, wavy strands.

She froze, but Gisborne only drew closer, leaning his forehead against her knees. Her dress quickly grew damp, and he clutched at the bottom of it as though it were a lifeline.

"No, I don't wonder," came his muffled reply. "I know why she does not want me." A harsh, self-deprecating laugh. "And who could blame her? She chose Hood because he's _good_. He doesn't kill the woman he loves merely because she loves another."

Her hands, which had been stroking his hair, suddenly stilled. Feeling her stiffen, he looked up at her. There was no malice in his gaze, only pain.

"I ran her through," he continued raggedly. "She told me she loved Robin Hood--had _always_ loved Robin Hood--, and I ran her through." His voice broke, and he dropped his gaze. "I didn't mean to. How _could_ I? But the sword was in my hand...she was before me..., and I-"

Gisborne broke off, his demeanor changing.

"Now you know," he said, with a bitter laugh. "I have committed horrendous crimes in the past, Ajsa, but if they have not damned me, this one undoubtedly has. Marian brought peace where ever she went. I bring tragedy."

Not for the first time that night, Ajsa struggled to make sense of her thoughts and feelings. There was disgust, yes, and a hint of hatred. Yet tempering those emotions was a generous dose of pity and sympathy. And Gisborne saw it all.

"The fact that you do not spurn me is a testament to your kindness," he remarked. His grip on her dress loosened, as he composed himself. Standing, he touched her shoulder. "But it is misplaced. I am, after all, the Devil's right hand man."

He fetched the pitcher of wine and headed for the stairs. His foot was on the first step, when Ajsa finally found her voice.

"No, you are not." Gisborne turned to regard her curiously. "You are not the Devil's right hand man. _He_ would not weep into his slave's kirtle."

His lips twitched as he glanced at the dark spots on her light blue dress. Then, with a slight nod at her, he began his ascent.


	10. A Fire Stoked and Quelled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guy and Ajsa break new ground. 
> 
> For the record, the second part of this chapter is not at all how I planned it to be. But the characters have a mind of their own. _Sigh_.

Life had been relatively quiet in Locksley. Gisborne was often too deeply mired in guilt or grief or wine to terrorize the villagers, and the Sheriff had other priorities, as well. What they were, Ajsa could not guess, but she was thankful for them if they kept him away from Locksley Manor. All those evenings spent biting her tongue, enduring his haughty derision and churlish innuendos. She was glad to be rid of them.

Ajsa was filling a bucket at the well, when a figure caught her attention. It was a man, striding through town with a bow and arrow, his gaze fixed unerringly on the manor. Townsfolk gathered, a mix of curiosity, excitement, and recognition on their faces. Realization dawned. This was the famed Robin Hood, and from the angry blaze in his eyes, he had come to seek revenge.

Her first instinct was to return to the house to warn Gisborne. But she checked it, deliberating. Lately, Guy had been almost kind to her, yet she was nevertheless still his captive. He could have freed her at any time but chose not to. Thus, Ajsa did not owe him her loyalty.

She glanced at Hood. He, like her master, looked worse for wear. Both men were visibly suffering, but it was Gisborne who had created that agony when he murdered Robin's beloved. A crime of that magnitude had consequences, and today, it seemed, there would be a reckoning. Who was she to deny the outlaw his rightful vengeance?

So she remained by the well and watched the inevitable confrontation unfold. Although Guy was the bigger and taller of the two, they were not evenly matched. With each strike, Hood was beating Gisborne. Ajsa winced. She had witnessed several brawls, but this one was different, more vicious, spurred by a mutual hatred that went back decades. Robin was coldly efficient, while Guy used his rage, to his detriment. He was swiftly disarmed, and if the guards hadn't distracted Hood, perhaps Gisborne would already be dead.

In the chaos, Ajsa was the first to notice when Guy's attention shifted to a young, red-haired girl. She moved, darting through the crowd, but failed to reach him before he hoisted the child over his shoulder and ran. She followed him, along with Hood and some villagers, through the forest to the edge of a cliff. Below it, Ajsa heard the rushing of water.

"One more step and she goes over," threatened Gisborne, holding the girl in front of him.

"Let her go," said Robin. "I'll drop the weapons."

The black knight glared at him. "You first."

Hood hesitated. To Ajsa's horror, Gisborne dangled the girl over the edge. The child's scream jolted her forward, but she stopped almost immediately. If her master was indeed intent on using the girl as blackmail, then Ajsa's approach could jeopardize her safety.

Fortunately for the girl, however, Robin complied, and Gisborne let her go. They circled each other, like two wolves, gauging strengths and weaknesses, while hurling accusations.

"The time's come for you to pay for what you did," said Robin.

"No, it was you," insisted Gisborne, his voice tinged with desperation. "You forced me to do it."

"You murdered her," the outlaw retorted. "She didn't love you. You couldn't have her."

"She should've been mine!"

"She was my wife!"

Those four words were all it took for Guy to attack Hood. With a fierce shout, he quickly overpowered the smaller man, whose head struck a rock as they tumbled to the ground. The blow dazed him, allowing Gisborne to lift him onto his shoulders. As he strode towards the edge of the cliff, his purpose was obvious.

"Sir Guy, no!" cried Ajsa, rushing forward. A guard caught her around the waist, holding her back. "Do not do this," she pleaded, but he ignored her.

She looked to the villagers and was shocked by their inaction. There were over a dozen of them. They outnumbered the two guards yet made no attempt to aid their champion. A flash of black in the corner of her eye brought Ajsa's focus back to Guy. She watched in dismay as he heaved Robin above his head and threw him from the cliff.

Then a man appeared seemingly out of nowhere, racing wildly towards Gisborne. But she hardly noticed him. Likewise, she barely registered when the guard released her to deal with the newcomer. Gisborne's yell of triumph echoed in her ears, blinding and deafening her to all else.

Ajsa walked to the ledge, peering at the river below. The current must have already carried the outlaw's body downstream, because she could not find it. As she turned, a hand wrapped around her upper arm to pull her away from the cliff.

Gisborne's icy gaze met hers.

"Thinking of joining the heroic Hood, are you?" Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. A sneer marred his handsome features, and he led her out of the forest."I heard you pleading for his life. He was a complete stranger to you, yet you still tried to save him."

Ajsa struggled against his grasp, but to no avail.

"Because he was a good man," she retorted, "whatever _you_ may think of him."

"A stupid man," corrected Guy. "He fought tirelessly for his precious peasants, but when his life was at stake, they didn't return the favor." He looked disgusted as his gaze passed over the townsfolk. "Filthy, stinking people. They left him to die, like rats fleeing a sinking ship. They don't deserve his loyalty."

She regarded him with a bemused expression."You sound almost angry that the villagers did not try to save Robin Hood," she observed. "Of course, that would be ridiculous, since you hate him."

He leveled a measured glance at her. "You presume too much, Ajsa. Just because I've been lenient with you doesn't mean my patience is endless," warned Gisborne. They had reached the house, but he paused at the entrance. "I must go to the castle now, and when I return, things will change."

He saddled his horse and rode off at a gallop. Ajsa stared at his retreating figure, her eyes narrowed in thought. She had no idea what his vague proclamation meant, but she knew it did not bode well for the residents of Locksley. Without Hood to protect them, they were helpless against the Sheriff's malice.

#

It had only taken a few hours for the villagers to feel that malice. When Gisborne returned from Nottingham, he'd ordered the soldiers to search the townsfolk for anything of value. Rings were slid off fingers. Bracelets were snatched from wrists. Necklaces were torn from necks. And even fastenings, such as buttons and clasps, were confiscated. Gold and silver and iron alike were collected in lieu of coins for the Sheriff's latest tax.

Once it was over, once the people had nothing left to give, Ajsa stood by the window and watched the aftermath. Her heart went out to them, because in many ways, their lives were harder. Although she was a slave, Gisborne treated her better than he did the villagers. He supplied her with everything she needed, so she didn't have to worry about how to obtain the basic necessities, like food or clothing. Neither were Locksley's residents any freer. They were subjugated to Gisborne, the Sheriff, the prince, and the king, while Ajsa only to Gisborne. She would certainly not classify her current situation as optimal, but at least she didn't fear for her life.

It was this line of musings which occupied her mind when Guy came home. The door creaked open, then slammed shut, the hinges rattling in protest. Startled, Ajsa dropped the pair of breeches she'd been sewing and jumped to her feet.

"Wine. Now," barked Gisborne, removing his sword from around his hips. It fell to the floor with a metallic _thud_.

Ajsa didn't bother filling a beaker with wine; she brought him the entire jug instead. He grunted in thanks and promptly drank two goblets' worth. She hovered nearby, waiting for his next directive. He was in that sort of mood tonight; he usually was after his visits to the castle. He would shout for wine, drink far too much of it, then rant about Hood or the Sheriff or both.

This night was no different.

"I hate him," he growled, banging his cup down onto the table. Gisborne slumped into a chair, his face partly hidden by a veil of black, unkempt hair. "I swear to God that one day I will kill him. I'll run my sword through his gut and laugh as he bleeds to death."

Sitting across from Guy, Ajsa reminded him calmly, "But you have already killed Robin Hood."

"Not him," snapped Gisborne. "Vaisey." Then his expression darkened further. "And I didn't kill Hood after all. The bloody outlaw _lives_ , so my usefulness to the Sheriff is nearly spent."

"He survived that fall?" she asked, astonished. "How?"

He glared at her, resenting the hint of awe in her voice. Hood bested him in every way. He was favored by the king, worshiped by the people, loved by Marian... The man had even managed to conquer death. For all that Guy despised Robin, he was loath to acknowledge a grudging respect towards him.

"Why don't you run to the woods and ask him? I'm sure that rabble of his could use a decent cook." He smirked and leaned in closer, to bring his gaze level with hers. "Or perhaps you could console Hood, take his mind off Marian. He's still a man, you know, despite his apparent immortality."

Ajsa's jaw clenched at the insinuation. When she spoke, her tone was cold as ice.

"He is certainly more of a man than you, Sir Guy."

His eyes narrowed. "What?"

"How long did you court Marian? Years? And all that time, she remained loyal to Robin Hood, even in his absence." Ajsa saw the dangerous glint in his eyes and knew she should stop talking, lest he finally lose his patience with her. But Ajsa had never been the most sensible of women. "Her pretty smiles blinded you, and in the end, she married Hood, not you."

The goblet went flying across the room and crashed against the wall hard enough to leave a dent. Gisborne was on her in a flash, hauling her up from the bench until her feet were off the ground. His face was twisted in fury; his teeth, bared.

"I have borne enough from you, _slave_ ," he spat. "I have cautioned you to hold your tongue, but you obstinately refuse. Why?" he demanded. "Why do you insist on testing me? Are you so miserable here that you wish for death?"

She met his gaze unflinchingly. If he would punish her, so be it. She would not cower.

"I 'test' you, as you call it, because I can," she answered. For an instant, the hardness in his eyes gave way to curiosity. Ajsa forged on, her resolve bolstered by the slight change. "You claim to be haunted by demons for your past crimes, and I do believe you are sincere in your grief and regret over Marian. Yet instead of striving to _atone_ for your sins, you continue to commit them." Her hand rose, hesitating, before it settled on his cheek. Guy flinched, evidently expecting a more violent touch. "You are capable of goodness, Guy of Gisborne. I should know, for I have experienced it."

He leaned briefly into the caress, then set her down, his hold loosening but not retreating. Though his features remained tense, the fury had dissipated.

"Time and time again, you disarm me, Ajsa," he said faintly, shaking his head in disbelief. "I cannot fathom it, this power you wield over me. Perhaps you really are a witch, sent to torment me for my sins, because not even Marian had this effect on me."

Now it was her turn to look at him curiously. He offered her a rueful smile.

"After Marian abandoned me at the altar, I burned down her home."

"My goodness, no wonder she rejected you," Ajsa remarked. She winced. The words had left her mouth unbidden, but to her surprise, he did not rile at them. "But I still do not understand what effect I have on you."

Gisborne sighed and released her. As he lowered himself onto the bench, he appeared suddenly quite weary. It was not a sight that Ajsa liked.

Looking up at her, he patted the spot next to him. She took it.

"I'm quick to anger," Guy explained. "But _you_ , Ajsa...," he paused, searching for the proper phrasing, "are able to quell it like no other." He gave her a pointed glance. "Which is rather fortunate, since you also seem to enjoy stoking it."

"Oh, I do," she agreed, with a bright smile. "How can I not, when you strut about, issuing your commands? You are so confident they will be followed that I cannot resist _not_ following them."

He shook his head again, this time in exasperation. But despite his frustration, he could not help feeling amused.

"It was a good thing that I was the one to discover you at the slave market," he said, "for I fear you would have been any other man's undoing."

"Or my own," she murmured.

"Aye, or that."

Guy glanced down at her hand, which rested on the bench beside his thigh. He could barely resist the urge to clasp it within his. What was wrong with him? Marian had only been dead for a few months, and he was already considering another woman?

Clearing his throat, he stood.

"It has been a trying day," he said, not looking at her. "I think it's best if I retire."

Ajsa pursed her lips, wondering what had caused his sudden shift in demeanor. He had softened and was beginning to relax, only to stiffen again. There had been nothing untoward about their interaction, yet his behavior seemed to indicate otherwise.

But she voiced none of this, merely dipped into a perfunctory curtsey and bade him good night.

Guy ascended the stairs, troubled as ever, except now his inner turmoil included the green-eyed spitfire he'd rescued from Thomas.


	11. What's in a Name?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ajsa is confronted by the sheriff.

After the night Gisborne had nearly grasped Ajsa's hand, he took to avoiding her. He no longer complained to her upon his return from the castle, and he certainly no longer confided in her. He left the room if she was in it, but most importantly, he tried to prevent her from getting under his skin.

Yet despite his best efforts, his thoughts consistently featured her. And as Ajsa became more prominent in them, Marian gradually began to fade from them. Her smiles, which had once possessed the power to make his heart soar, were a hazy memory, destined to be replaced by another's far less frequent smiles. The sparkling, blue eyes that had so captivated him were now dull, from more than mere death. No matter how much he fixated on his guilt and love, he could not cling to a ghost.

While he stewed in his frustration, he watched Ajsa by the stables. Ever since Guy had grown distant, she'd begun spending her free time amongst the horses. They liked her. They trusted her. And she liked and trusted them. Her laughter was proof of that. In the year that Ajsa had been at Locksley Manor, Gisborne could count on two hands the number of times he'd heard her laugh. But on each occasion, it sent a tendril of warmth to his cold, hate-filled heart.

Perhaps sensing she was being observed, Ajsa looked up, her gaze meeting his. Her face instantly fell, the happiness morphing into bewildered discomfort. Guy knew she did not understand his recent behavior. How could she? He had been warming towards her--and she towards him--, before suddenly pulling away. He longed to tell her it was not her fault, that it was not what he wanted. She had shown him kindness when others wouldn't or couldn't, and that deserved reciprocation.

But the insistent nagging in his head warned him that Marian, too, had once been kind to him. If she, a noble woman, had had an ulterior motive, surely a dispossessed woman did, as well. And then, of course, there was Marian's spirit. It lingered on, visible only to him, ceaselessly reminding him of his love and crime. Gisborne granted it entry into his life, because otherwise, he feared he would forget her and forgive himself his sins. Redemption was not his to have.

That was precisely why he must limit his interaction with Ajsa, for she _was_ his redemption. Marian could no longer absolve him of his wrongs, but, if they grew to love each other, Ajsa might. The possibility filled him with such a soul-crushing yearning that he staggered back from the window. Wine. He needed wine. Lately he _always_ needed wine. It numbed him to all feeling, the good and the bad. It granted him dreamless, though not restful, sleep. It kept him from bashing Vaisey's skull against the castle wall every time the foul, little man goaded him.

Guy was about to pour himself a goblet, when the front door opened. Ajsa stepped inside, hesitating as she spied him. He paused, the pitcher tilted in his grasp, and just looked at her, his expression inscrutable.

After a silent moment, Ajsa cleared her throat and walked towards him.

"Allow me," she said, taking the decanter of wine from his hand. He acquiesced and fetched a second goblet. She stared at it blankly. "Are you expecting company, my lord?"

Gisborne cringed at the honorific. It sounded hollow and alien coming from her lips.

"No company," he replied gently. "It's for you."

"I prefer water."

He went into the kitchen and returned with a pitcher of water. Filling the second goblet, he handed it to her. They stood facing each other, Gisborne regarding her with a small frown, while Ajsa looked at anything but him.

"Shall we...sit?" he suggested, gesturing towards the bench.

Ajsa opened her mouth, then closed it and followed his lead. Guy knew a protest, perhaps even a reprimand, had been on her tongue, and the fact that she checked it was like a kick to the gut. Only a few days ago, she'd felt confident enough to provoke him; now, she shrank away from the inclination, obeying him like a servant should.

"Talk to me, Ajsa," he pleaded. "I've grown accustomed to the sound of your voice."

Her eyes widened in surprise, before narrowing in anger. It was the first hint of fire he had seen in days.

"I am only mimicking your behavior, my lord."

"Don't call me that," he snapped.

"I _will_ call you that, for that is how a slave should address her master, as you have pointed out in the past."

"Yes, but then, if you recall, I requested that you stop," he reminded her.

Ajsa scoffed derisively. "Forgive me if I am confused by this back-and-forth in your demeanor." She took a sip of water and swallowed it with difficulty. "What do you want from me?"

The plaintive note in her voice affected him more strongly than he cared to admit. Yet again, he was the cause of another's discomfort.

"I don't know," he admitted. "I don't even know what I want from myself."

"Then, until you discover it, I must ask that we assume the relations befitting our respective stations." She stood and dipped into a curtsey. "If you will excuse me, my lord, I have chores to complete."

When she'd gone, a hand curled into a fist and slammed down onto the table. Everything he did, every word he said, was wrong. Perhaps Vaisey was right. Perhaps he really was a useless cockup who stank of misery, self-loathing, and wine.

Sighing, Gisborne drained his goblet and fastened his sword belt around his hips. The Sheriff awaited. There were Irish nobles to meet and English peasants to conscript.

#

Despite her insistence to maintain formal relations with Gisborne, Ajsa waited up for him, as she normally did. A few hours elapsed, and she realized he was likely not coming home. That was not unusual, since he sometimes spent the night at the castle, but he had always sent a note to inform her of the change in plan. No message came this time.

Wrapping a shawl around her shoulders, she went outside and peered up at the moon. It was late, probably close to early morning. The village was quiet, and the houses, except for Gisborne's, were dark. An owl hooted nearby, but apart from the periodic rustle of branches in the breeze, all was still.

Ajsa opened the stable door and felt her way to Tempest's stall. It was empty, as she'd expected it to be. A feeling akin to unease gnawed at her. Gisborne, she reasoned, might simply be acting out of anger or spite after her reproval. It would not be out of character for him to deliberately worry her, yet this time, her gut disagreed. For all his crimes and cruelty, he had at least been considerate towards _her_.

But her concern was hardly altruistic. Ajsa knew that if some ill had befallen him, her situation would quickly turn precarious. Though she was loath to admit it, Guy afforded her protection from lecherous men; from the slaver, Thomas; and from the Sheriff. And for that reason alone, she could not hate him.

#

Ajsa was still asleep when the guards arrived. She awoke to Mary rushing into her quarters, a frightened note in her voice.

"They've come for ye."

Ajsa, still groggy, responded in her native Hungarian.

" _Kik_?" She stretched and yawned, oblivious to the fact that she had not spoken English. Only when she glimpsed Mary's confused expression did she realize what she'd said. "I mean, who have come?"

"The Sheriff's _guards_ ," whispered Mary insistently. "They're askin' for ye, so I told 'em I'd fetch ye. Didn't want 'em seein' ye in a compromised state."

"Thank you, Mary," she said, grateful for the woman's kind foresight.

She exchanged her nightdress for a clean kirtle and combed hasty fingers through her brown hair. Taking a deep breath, she walked out into the main area of the house, with Mary following cautiously. Two guards sat at the table, a tankard of ale in each man's grasp. Ajsa's anger rose unbidden.

"This is the private home of Sir Guy of Gisborne," she said tartly. "You have no right to enter it without his permission."

One of the soldiers scowled, while the other laughed.

"What's a servan' doin' givin' orders to the Sheriff of Nottin'am's men?"

The better-natured guard shot his companion a withering glance. "Gisborne's finished," he informed her. "He let Hood escape one too many times, and the Sheriff finally got tired of it."

"Where is he?" Ajsa demanded.

The more cheerful of the two shrugged.

"Dead, I expect," he replied. "The Sheriff gave him to Prince John as payment. Dunno why he's better than money, but that's what's happened."

Ajsa reeled from the news. Swallowing hard, she placed a hand on the back of a chair to steady herself and looked to Mary for support. But the woman, who had recently borne Vaisey's brutality, stood meekly by the doorway. She would be of no help, then.

The ill-tempered guard had finished his ale and was moving towards her.

"The Sheriff begs the favor of a word," he said, with mock-respect. He gripped her arm and smiled lasciviously. "But after seein' ya, I think 'e'll want a bit more, don't ya, Will?"

The second man, Will, rolled his eyes.

"I don't know or care what the Sheriff intends to do with her," he said, in a bored tone. "Our orders are to bring her in, so let's get moving."

They led Ajsa outside, where two horses awaited. She expected them to tie her hands, forcing her to follow on foot, but the surly guard lifted her onto his horse and settled in behind her. Trapped within the cage of his arms, his chest pressed against her back. He radiated heat and the stench of sweat, and when he reached for the reins, a hand brushed the side of her breast. Ajsa suspected it had not been innocent.

She scooted up as far as she could, but, as she knew he would, the soldier wrapped an arm around her middle to pull her back. She jabbed her elbow into his stomach, eliciting a hiss of pain.

"Oh dear, have I hurt you?" she inquired, sounding suitably contrite. "I slid back so suddenly that I could not move my elbow out of the way in time. Do forgive me."

He muttered a curse but kept his hands to himself after that. Will glanced at her, saw her satisfied smile, and flashed her an amused if slightly disdainful smirk.

They reached the castle without further issue. Her escorts brought her to the Sheriff, whose mere presence filled her with a hint of trepidation. The man eyed her critically. His gaze lingered on her face and hands, but passed only briefly over the features that drew the interest of most other men.

With his fingers steepled under his chin, he said, "It's Ajsa, am I correct?"

She stared at him, unsure what he meant. But he evidently did not seek her confirmation, because he continued without it.

"That's not a name one comes across very often. In fact, I've _never_ heard it. Why is that?"

"Because it is not English," she stated dryly.

Vaisey grinned. "That's right," he affirmed, standing and walking towards her. "So, if your name isn't English, then what is it?"

Ajsa watched him, perplexed by his questions but aware that he was either testing her or toying with her. Or both.

"It is Hungarian."

"Yes! Very good," he praised, circling her, his bejeweled tooth sparkling in his wolfish smile. "So, if your name is Hungarian, that must mean you are, too. The king of Hungary--what's his name--is obscenely wealthy, and because I need his money, you're going to get it for me."

Ajsa would have laughed had she not been wary of raising the Sheriff's ire. What he proposed was ludicrous.

"I am a slave," she reminded him. "What influence do you think I could possibly have with the king?"

Vaisey grinned again. "You're a slave _now_ , my pretty, but you weren't always." He held up her wrist between his thumb and forefinger, tracing his other index finger over her palm. "The low-born have hands that are roughened from labor. Your hands, however, are smooth." The touch turned into a caress, and Ajsa had to resist the urge to pull away. "They're quite lovely, really. Small and delicate, as a woman's hands should be."

Vaisey dropped her wrist and regarded her seriously.

"So, Ajsa, who were you before you ran afoul of the slavers?"


	12. Damsel in Distress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ajsa agrees to the Sheriff's plan but meets an old friend who could help her out of it.

Vaisey watched Ajsa over the rim of his goblet, his keen gaze taking in her stiff demeanor. A tendril of glee unfurled at the sight of her obvious discomfort. He had offered her some wine, which she hadn't touched, in an effort to paint a veneer of civility over the interrogation.

"Well, my dear, will you answer me now?"

She stared at her hands that were folded her lap.

"Who I was before is no longer important," she replied. "But I can assure you that I held no sway with the king."

"Oh, come now, don't be modest," he said encouragingly. "Your English is better than that idiot Thomas', which leads me to believe you learned it prior to your capture. That means you're educated. Of course, I'm not very familiar with social customs in Hungary, but I doubt the lower-classes are so refined as to receive an education."

Ajsa didn't reply. If she answered his questions truthfully, the repercussions could be dire indeed. But Vaisey was not deterred.

"Still won't talk, huh?" He sighed and motioned for more wine. "Then let's just have an innocent conversation. What _is_ the Hungarian king's name?"

She looked at him, baffled at the change of subject.

"His name is Béla III."

"Mmm, no wonder I couldn't remember it," the Sheriff murmured. "And he has lots of gold and silver, yes?"

"Do not all kings?"

Vaisey grinned. "Touché, pretty one. But Baila or whoever has lots and _lots_ of it." He held up an index finger, gazing pensively into the distance. "I've heard he receives 23 tons of silver annually. That's more than what the French king gets and double what King Richard gets." He fixed Ajsa with an amused glance. "I should know."

"And you want King Béla to give you some of that," she stated.

"Well, yes," Vaisey replied. "I mean, what's he going to do with it? Distribute it among his peasants?"

"He might," Ajsa said. "That would be a better use for it than what you have planned."

Vaisey looked shocked. "You wound me, Ajsa. My motives could be noble." Then he paused and grinned. "Very well, perhaps not as noble as your king's, but that's no concern of yours. All _you_ have to worry about is procuring the money."

"Send your diplomats. That is what they are for, are they not?"

"They're useless," Vaisey said curtly, dismissing her suggestion with a wave of his hand. "No, I need someone who speaks the language, a high-born native. That's you, Ajsa."

She was growing uneasy again. If she refused, he might lock her in the dungeons until she changed her mind. But if she agreed, the attempt would end in failure and probably in her imprisonment, as well. Ajsa was backed into a corner, with no viable options. However, it wouldn't hurt to try to dissuade him one last time.

"I am telling you, I cannot do it."

Something flashed in Vaisey's eyes. His patience was wearing thin.

"Shall I reunite you with Thomas? I'm sure he'd like to see you again now that you have some flesh on your bones. Or perhaps I should lend you to the guards. They're always in need of pretty women, and you're the prettiest of the lot."

Ajsa paled and swallowed hard to clear the lump in her throat. The dungeons were preferable to being whored out to that vile slaver and the soldiers.

"You would not risk tarnishing my virtue," she argued. "If my king learns that an unclean woman requests an audience with him, he will surely not grant it."

"Oh, my dear," said Vaisey, walking slowly towards her. He stood behind her and leaned forward, his cheek brushing against hers. "You are definitely no virginal maiden." His glance dropped to her décolletage, before he straightened and reclaimed his seat. "But that doesn't mean you'd enjoy the men's attentions. Must I break you first, or will you comply now?"

She met his expectant gaze with a glare, the same fire burning in her eyes that Guy had seen in the slave market.

"I comply."

Vaisey smiled. "I knew you would."

#

Three days later, Ajsa was nearly ready to depart for Hungary. The Sheriff had insisted she remain as his guest at the castle, though she knew the invitation was yet another pleasantry concealing his true purpose--to be aware of her actions at all times. He had provided her with a chamber maid, who no doubt reported to him at the end of the day, and two guards, who escorted her everywhere inside and outside the castle.

"For your protection, Ajsa," Vaisey had said. "We wouldn't want you to be accosted or abducted on the eve of your departure, now would we?"

Ajsa had merely scowled in response. The men were respectful enough, but they were dirty and stupid. In her wildest imaginations, she had never expected she would miss Gisborne, but now, as Vaisey's unwashed minions trailed her, she found herself longing for Guy's company. _He_ , at least, had bathed.

Apart from what Will, one of the guards who had brought her to Nottingham, told her, she still had no idea what had happened to Gisborne. He could be dead, for all she knew. Ajsa felt a pang of sorrow at the possibility, not only for his fate, but also for her own. Was she doomed to do the Sheriff's bidding? Or would the truth about her past come out and be her undoing? She shuddered. Neither scenario was uplifting.

A sudden clamor diverted her attention, and that of her guards, as well. Shouts intermixed with the _clang_ of steel, coming from the east side of the castle. Matthew, the brighter of her escorts, grasped her arm and led her towards the stairs.

"It's time to get back to yer room, my lady."

"I can find my own way back, thank you," she said, pulling away from him. "From the sounds of it, there is a fight. I am sure your comrades would appreciate your blades."

The two men exchanged a glance.

"We can't leave ya alone."

"Aye, our or'ers are ta remain wi' ya at all times when not in yer quar'ers."

Ajsa smiled sweetly at them. "And you have performed your duties most skillfully, but I think the Sheriff would agree that stopping a potential threat is more important than walking me to my door."

The guards still looked hesitant, but a loud _crash_ seemed to convince them.

"Very well," said Matthew. "Hurry upstairs. The Sheriff'll 'ave our 'eads if somethin' 'appens to ya."

Ajsa moved towards the spiral staircase, as if to scale it, but when Matthew and Tom turned the corner, she waited a couple minutes, then followed them. If her suspicions proved correct, there may yet be a way to escape Vaisey's clutches. She just needed to find an old friend first.

The noises grew increasingly louder the farther east she went, and once she could make out specific words, she stopped and hid behind the corner. Peeking around it, Ajsa saw about two dozen castle guards engaged in a scuffle with a small, ragtag group of men and one woman. Her heart leapt when she recognized an auburn-haired man.

Allan looked up just in time to see a flash of brown at the intersection of two corridors. He punched a soldier and knocked out another one with the butt of his sword as he made his way towards the mystery person. When he turned the corner, his eyes widened.

"Ajsa, lass, what're ya doin' 'ere?"

"Long story," she replied, glancing nervously behind him. "I can explain if we go somewhere quieter."

Allan nodded. "There's a part of the castle nearby that won't be used now. We can go there."

The safe location turned out to be one of the storerooms. Ajsa eyed a barrel of apples. Allan chuckled and grabbed two of the bright red fruits, handing her one and biting into the other.

"So, I take it you're not 'ere of your own volition."

"I cannot imagine why anyone would be," she said dryly. "The Sheriff ordered me to be brought here after Gisborne was taken by Prince John's men. He wants me to ask the Hungarian king to help fund whatever scheme he is plotting."

Allan's brows rose. "Can ya do that?"

"Of course not, but Vaisey seems to think I can." She paused, looking up at Allan with a hint of fear on her face. "As much as I want to return home, I cannot under these circumstances. They are too...ostentatious. And if I fail, which I am sure to do, I am afraid of the consequences."

"Ajsa, love, what aren't ya tellin' me?" Allan asked, growing slightly concerned.

"That is not important," she said quickly. "Can you convince Robin Hood to waylay the carriage before it reaches Dartmouth harbor?"

"To save a damsel in distress, 'course I can," said Allan cheerfully. "But I'm not bein' funny, love, there's somethin' you're keepin' from me, and Robin'll notice it, too."

A noise outside the storeroom startled Ajsa. Allan pulled her behind a row of barrels, but it was just a servant running past with a bundle of bandages, most likely to treat the wounded soldiers. The battle, it appeared, had ended.

That seemed to remind Allan of something.

"How'd ya know I'd be 'ere?"

"Intuition," she quipped, with a twitch of her lips. "You should go, before your friends leave you."

"Aye. When's the carriage leavin'?"

"Tomorrow at dawn."

"Righ'," he nodded. "We'll be there."

Ajsa stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek.

"Thank you, Allan. I am in your debt."

He grinned. "Nah, I'll take that kiss as my reward." Then his blue eyes twinkled mischievously. "But if ya wanna give me another, I won' say no."

"Tomorrow," she laughed, "once I am free of Vaisey."


	13. Tête-à-tête

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part of Ajsa's past is revealed. Still no Gisborne, but he will return in the next chapter, I promise.

The carriage lumbered along the road, jostling its occupants over bumps and dips. Traveling on horseback would have been more comfortable, but Vaisey had likely realized that it also made it easier for Ajsa to escape. She glanced at her two guards, Matthew and Tom, sitting opposite her inside the carriage. They'd be accompanying her to Hungary, or so they believed.

It had been about an hour since they had left the castle, and Ajsa was already growing impatient. Where was Robin Hood's gang? She wondered if Allan had forgotten to tell Robin, or if Robin had decided not to help her. She _was_ Gisborne's maidservant, after all, and for all he knew, she could also be his spy. Although if Gisborne was dead, a spy would be useless to him. Nevertheless, Hood had no reason to help her beyond foiling the Sheriff's plans. She just hoped that would be reason enough.

Ajsa was in the middle of a yawn, when the carriage jerked to a halt and the men guarding it began shouting curses. Matthew and Tom immediately drew their swords.

"Stay inside, m'lady," instructed Matthew, before rushing to help his colleagues.

She ignored the directive. Peeking out the window, she saw Robin Hood's gang fighting three of the Sheriff's men, while two laid dead or unconscious on the forest floor. Another was swiftly incapacitated by Robin, and Ajsa watched a large man deal a powerful blow to Tom's skull. She stepped out of the carriage as he crumpled to the ground.

Kneeling by his side, she examined him. A bruise was already forming on his forehead from where the big man had hit him with his staff, but there was nothing to indicate a bleed in his brain. Tom would be fine, if a bit sore in the head.

Matthew, on the other hand, might not be quite as fortunate. He was holding his own against Hood, but only just. Before she could think about her actions, Ajsa was on her feet.

"Stop," she demanded, and all gazes, including Matthew's, turned to her. "Do not kill him."

Matching looks of confusion crossed Matthew's and Robin's faces. Ajsa didn't blame them; even _she_ was unsure why she had spoken on her guard's behalf.

"Pardon?" questioned the outlaw.

"Do not kill him," she repeated. "Ransack the carriage, but let him live."

In Robin's distraction, Matthew attempted to strike at him. But the big man was quicker. After ensuring that all the guards were indeed out of commission, Robin rounded on Ajsa.

"Let him live, you say?"

"He was kind to me," she answered.

"How do I know you're not one of the Sheriff's spies?"

Allan moved to stand beside Ajsa. "Robin..."

"Well, he's right, isn't he?" said a blonde woman. Ajsa remembered her from the skirmish at the castle. "Why else would she defend the Sheriff's men?"

"I have already told you why," said Ajsa impatiently, "because that particular man treated me with kindness when he could have just as easily been a brute."

"I don't like this, Robin. I thought this was a bad idea when Allan mentioned it, and I think it's a worse idea now."

"I know you did, Kate," said Hood. He glanced briefly at the blonde woman, before returning his attention to Ajsa. "Even if you're not Vaisey's spy, you used to work for Gisborne."

Ajsa snorted. "I assure you that was not out of choice."

"True," conceded Hood. "Allan told me of your circumstance, and I do sympathize," he said, softening somewhat. "But I also have a responsibility to my gang and to the people the Sheriff oppresses."

"I _am_ one of those people," Ajsa reminded him.

Robin regarded her with a cautious curiosity. "He's sending you home."

"Yes," she nodded, "but under less than favorable conditions."

A black man rested a hand on the outlaw's shoulder.

"Robin, I do not believe she is a spy. Allan has vouched for her, and she did attempt to stop Gisborne from killing you during your brawl atop the cliff."

Ajsa looked at him, startled. "How could you know that?" she asked. "You were not there."

"But I was, my lady," he replied. "Your focus was understandably elsewhere. You may remember me from the night I visited Sir Guy."

"I do," she affirmed. "You are the friar whose information helped him to capture Robin Hood's gang on the day of the eclipse. Yet here you are, a member of that same gang."

"Tuck's method was unorthodox, but it worked," said Robin. "Anyway, he's spoken in your favor, so I think that deserves a bit of respect."

Ajsa eyed the friar dubiously, then inclined her head. "I apologize and thank you for your assistance." She looked at each outlaw in turn. "I thank all of you. With Sir Guy gone, I fear I am at the Sheriff's mercy."

"And that's a bad place to be," said a blond-haired man. He gave Ajsa a small bow and smiled. "Much, at your service."

Allan rolled his eyes. "He'll be tryin' to woo ya in a minute, if ya let 'im," he quipped, earning an indignant huff from Much. "The big man o'er there is Li'le John, and the rest of us ya know."

"I am pleased to make your acquaintances, though I feel as if I already know you. Between the villagers and Gisborne, I have heard much about the famous Robin Hood and his men." She glanced at Kate, who was still watching her with suspicion. "And woman, of course."

"Now that we're all acquainted, let's get off the road before Vaisey's soldiers regain consciousness," said Robin. "Allan, Little John, grab the chest of money. May as well make this a double liberation." He winked at Ajsa and offered her his arm. "While we walk, I'd like to learn more about the Sheriff's plot and why he thought you could accomplish it."

Though Ajsa smiled, a sense of unease filled her at the prospect of lying again. Yet with a friar amongst his gang, she had even more reason to hide the truth about her past.

"I do not know the details of his plot, nor why he believed I would succeed in it," she answered truthfully. "He only told me that I was to secure funding from King Béla III of Hungary."

"Which would likely be used against King Richard," Tuck deduced.

Robin nodded. "Vaisey chose well. Your king is very wealthy, my lady."

"Yes, so I have been informed," said Ajsa dryly. "Do you know my king, then?"

"Not as such," replied Robin. "But his soldiers in the Holy Land wore the highest quality armor. Some of them even spoke English, so I learned a few things about him." He regarded Ajsa with a curious expression. "None of them, however, spoke English as fluently as you."

"I, too, was in the Holy Land," she confessed, "where I helped to care for wounded soldiers, some of whom were English."

" _You_ traveled to the Holy Land?" exclaimed Much, his blue eyes wide with surprise. "Why would you go somewhere so dangerous?"

She shrugged. "My father went."

"Was he a soldier?" asked Allan.

"No, he was a blacksmith. The king liked his work and sent him to the Holy Land to repair the soldiers' armor and weapons."

"But that still doesn't explain why you went with him," Tuck remarked. "Could you not have stayed with family?"

"I am sure I could have," Ajsa replied. "I chose to accompany my father because I wanted to see beyond the borders of the kingdom. I wanted to meet new people and learn new languages."

Allan grinned. "A woman with a taste for adventure. Don't come across that very of'en."

"So you attended to the wounded, then returned to Hungary?" asked Much.

"Yes, when my king withdrew his troops, my father and I resumed our lives back home."

"But it's not that simple, is it," argued Kate. "The Sheriff thinks you can persuade your king to give him money. There must be a reason for that."

Ajsa stifled her irritation and hid it behind a coolly composed front.

"Perhaps he is aware of my father's favor with the king," she suggested. "King Béla commissioned many items from my father and subsequently rewarded him with a position of favor."

"With status, you mean," said Robin.

"Of a sort."

"So you're a noble," Kate stated. "That's why the Sheriff thinks your king will listen to you."

"I am not privy to the Sheriff's private thoughts," said Ajsa mildly. "As you can imagine, he was not keen to share the sordid details of his plan."

A look of annoyance flashed across Kate's face, and Robin, seeing it, intervened before an argument could erupt between the two women.

" _Are_ you a noble?" he asked.

Ajsa scanned his features, searching for any signs of distrust. But she found none.

"I am not."

Allan closed his eyes, then opened them, and Ajsa noticed he appeared to be relieved. She furrowed her eyebrows. He caught her gaze and smiled sheepishly, but she still did not understand his reaction.

"But you must be someone important, or else Vaisey wouldn't send you on this mission," Kate insisted.

Ajsa sighed, her patience for the blonde woman wearing thin.

"I am merely the only Hungarian the Sheriff knows," she explained. "He commented on my hands, that they are not rough like those of the lower classes. From that observation, he evidently supposed I must therefore be someone of rank. And while I _was_ more privileged than most of my sex, I regrettably did not command the king."

Kate opened her mouth, ready to dispute Ajsa's words, but Robin again stepped in.

"That's enough, Kate," he chided gently. Turning to Tuck, he said, "Whether or not Ajsa would have succeeded is only one side of the issue. We need to know what that money is for."

"We will figure something out, Robin," the friar assured him.

#

The turf crunched underfoot as Allan and Ajsa gathered firewood. Robin, liking but not yet trusting Ajsa, had opted not to bring the gang back to their camp. He did not truly believe she would betray them to the Sheriff--or to Gisborne, if he still lived--, but he hadn't survived this long without exercising a bit of caution.

"Kate does not like me," remarked Ajsa.

"She doesn't really like anyone," Allan replied. "I wouldn't take it personally."

"Oh, I do not," she said, bending down to pick up a few twigs. "But if we are going to quarrel the entire time, I think I would rather attempt to return home. I nearly escaped once, you know. I would have had I not encountered Gisborne at the docks."

"Comin' back from the Holy Land?"

Ajsa nodded. "With the Sheriff."

"That's shite luck, love," said Allan, grimacing in sympathy, "sharin' a carriage with Vaisey for days. He didn't hurt ya, did he?"

"No, he did not. I think he is not the sort to dirty his hands with that."

"Nah, he's got Giz for that."

Her face fell, but Allan, walking behind her, did not see it. When she'd first met Sir Guy, she'd hated him, for he had mocked her and had mercilessly reminded her of her misfortune. But gradually, she began to soften towards him--and he towards her--, and now she actually found herself missing him. A part of her even grieved for him.

"But you worked for him," Ajsa reminded Allan. "And you are back with Robin Hood."

"Aye, I worked for Giz, and I don't really regret it either. He's not as evil as people think, and I was at least able to still help the gang." Allan sighed. "But it wasn't easy gettin' back in with Robin. I don't think Much has forgiven me yet."

She laughed. "Yes, Much's loyalty to Robin is well-talked about in the village. How did you start working for Gisborne anyway?"

"Long story, love, but suffice it to say that at the time, I thought Giz could offer me more."

"And did he?" asked Ajsa, turning to face him. She shifted the bundle of firewood in her arms and watched Allan closely.

"Well, he paid me, so yeah, he did," Allan replied. "Then I remembered why I'd joined Robin in the first place. I guess I liked helpin' people."

Ajsa smiled. "And now you have helped me," she said. Walking over to him, she rose onto her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "The second half of the thank-you that I promised."

"It's a shame not all the women are as grateful as you," teased Allan, with a cheeky grin. "It's gettin' dark. We should head back to camp."

Ajsa followed him, a small smile on her lips. She liked Allan. She had liked him immediately upon making his acquaintance, which was saying something for her. He reminded her of someone she knew long ago, someone who had been dear to her.

Her heart gave a slight twinge at the memory. In her twenty-eight years, she had lost much, but she had also gained much. Loss and gain--one did not come without the other. There was balance; the universe demanded it. And now that she had lost Gisborne, perhaps she could regain her freedom.


	14. Gratitude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guy returns! And the results are...gratifying.

Ajsa and the gang walked through Sherwood Forest after a successful hunting trip. Much and Allan each carried a brace of rabbits, engaging in their usual lighthearted banter.

"All I'm saying is I shot them. Would be nice if someone else offered to cook them," complained Much.

The men's attention alighted upon Kate and Ajsa.

"Don't look at me just because I'm a girl," Kate protested.

Allan grinned. "Oh, I think it's established Much is the girl around here."

"What about you, lass?" Little John asked Ajsa hopefully.

"I am a girl," she agreed, "but I would not even think to rival Much's skill in stewing rabbit."

The blond man, however, did not appear to have heard the compliment. He seemed to be stewing his indignation, instead.

"Hang on, Allan. What is this about? I am a man in mind and body."

"Yeah?" challenged Allan, his piercing blue eyes lit up in amusement. "Prove it."

But Much's reply was cut short as Robin and a black-haired woman joined them. They were panting, like they had been running from someone or something.

"Turn back," Robin instructed. "We've got company. Our old friend, he's back from the prince's court."

"Gisborne is?" Ajsa inquired, surprised.

Allan shared her sentiment. "What? I thought he was dead."

"Evidently not," quipped Much, still offended by the insinuation that he wasn't a man.

They sprinted from the path into a field, with four men on horseback pursuing them.

"What are we doing?" demanded the black-haired woman. "We can't outrun them."

"Don't worry, we're not going to," Robin assured her.

Tuck led them towards a small ledge. "Follow me!" Without hesitation, he jumped off it and landed on another path below. Ajsa ran with Allan, but when she reached the ledge, she balked. It was higher up than Tuck had made it seem.

"Come on, luv," Allan urged.

He grabbed her hand and leapt, pulling Ajsa along with him. They landed roughly but safely on the dusty road, followed closely by Robin and the woman. As they fled into the woods, Ajsa glanced back and saw Gisborne astride his horse, scrutinizing a piece of cloth. To her simultaneous relief and disappointment, he did not see her.

The guards still trailed them, so they split up and would meet at Nottingham. Allan, Much, and Ajsa were to go west through the marshes, but they never reached them. Soldiers closed in on all sides, forcing the group back together.

"There must be hundreds of men," remarked Allan, as his companions rejoined him.

"Yeah, there are," nodded Tuck. "And they seem to know exactly where we're going."

"Or where they want us to go," Robin deduced gravely. "We've been herded."

Much paled. "Like sheep."

"Like lambs to the slaughter," Robin corrected him. "They've been tracking us. They've exhausted our arsenals. I've one arrow left!"

"So how do we get out of here?" Kate asked.

Robin eyed the guards that were now visible between the trees. "Well, there's only one way left to go."

It was true that one direction still remained clear of soldiers, but Ajsa felt nervous about it. If Guy and his men really _were_ herding them, then the gang was walking straight into their trap.

As she had feared, they were corralled into a small clearing. Gisborne awaited at one end, partly blocking a large, covered cart.

Robin did not appear to be surprised. "Looking well, Gisborne, for a dead man."

"Be assured that _your_ death will be real, not rumored," retorted the black knight.

"You must have made quite an impression on Prince John," Robin observed, his gaze roving over the prince's elite guards.

"A better impression than you have," replied Guy. His attention flicked to Ajsa. "Come here, woman."

Ajsa hesitated. She knew that whatever Gisborne planned for Robin and his friends was terrible, and she was reluctant to abandon them. She owed her freedom from the Sheriff to the gang.

"What will you do to them?" she asked.

Gisborne smirked. "Oh, you'll see. Now come here, Ajsa, or share in their fate." Allan and Much stepped closer to her, and Guy barked a scornful laugh. "You really believe you can protect her? Only _I_ can do that, because _I'm_ in control here, not you."

"Go, Ajsa," said Robin. "For once, I think he's telling the truth. You're better off with him in this case."

Ajsa grasped Allan's hand and squeezed it briefly, before going to Gisborne. He helped her up onto his horse, his arms surrounding her as he retook the reins.

"Goodbye, Hood," he growled and directed his horse off to the side, away from the covered cart.

A guard standing atop it pulled the rope to lift the door, and a huge, maned animal jumped out with a roar. Robin's gang instinctively huddled together, weapons drawn, as the giant cat stalked towards them.

"Seems a rather apt way to dispatch such virulent supporters of the _Couer de Lion_ ," announced Gisborne smugly. "He hasn't been fed for days. I wanted him ready for ya."

The prince's men began to bang their spears and swords against their shields, spurring the snarling predator forward.

"Sir Guy, this is madness," Ajsa hissed.

"Quiet," he snapped. "Be grateful you're not there with them. It's where you deserve to be for joining with them the moment I was gone."

"If I had known you would be this depraved, I _would_ have remained with Robin and his friends."

His hands tightened around the reins, knuckles turning white from anger. "Watch your tongue, _slave_ , for you may still share their fate."

Guy's attention was diverted, though, when a yellowish powder suffused the air, making the horses rear and the men cough.

"Mustard powder," he shouted. "Cover your faces!"

Gisborne pushed Ajsa's head forward into the mane of his horse, and he bent low to avoid breathing in the powder. He galloped back to his camp, tension radiating from his body as Robin managed to elude him once again.

"Regroup, I want Hood found!" he bellowed.

"What _was_ that thing?" Ajsa inquired, glancing nervously at the cart.

"A lion," said Gisborne. "A deadly creature from Africa. Prince John received them as gifts from various African rulers." He dismounted and watched as Ajsa slid from the saddle, then took her arm. "Stay here," he commanded. "If you wander off, I cannot protect you."

"Why not just let the lion eat me, too?" she retorted and wrenched herself out of his grip.

He scowled at her. "Provoke me further and the thought may cross my mind."

Gisborne gathered his men and left the camp. It was only about a half hour later that he returned, more furious than ever, with the black-haired woman in tow. Ajsa flinched as he upended a table.

"Why are you here, Isabella?" he asked.

The woman looked at him imploringly. "I could not endure another day."

"So, what? You just walked away?" he questioned. "You were joined in holy matrimony."

"I was only a thirteen-year-old girl. If you have any idea what he has done to me..." Isabella trailed off, regaining some of her composure. "Guy, I'm your sister. All I ask for is protection."

Ajsa's eyes widened when she heard that. They had not spoken much about their families, but Gisborne had never once mentioned he'd had a _sister_. Now that she saw him and Isabella standing across from each other, there was definitely a resemblance.

"Well, it seems you've already received _that_ from Robin Hood," Gisborne said, then glared at Ajsa. "As have you."

"I knew nothing of his true nature," Isabella insisted. "I was in need of help, the help I'm asking from you now."

Guy crossed his arms across his chest. "Really? And what if I were to send you back to your husband?"

"Then you'd be condemning me to a life of misery for a second time. Only this time, you'd be doing it knowingly," answered his sister. "Guy, I don't believe you knew the damage you were doing when you sent me to Squire Thornton, but now you do. Surely you must feel some obligation towards me, a sense of loyalty, duty."

Guy rounded on her accusingly. "Loyalty? How can you speak of loyalty when you have twice aided and abetted Robin Hood?"

"A mistake, and one I will _not_ make again," Isabella said firmly. "Give me a chance, and I will earn back your trust and respect." Her blue eyes which were so similar to her brother's softened, a flash of fear and pain replacing their previous hard glint. "But please do not send me back to my husband."

"Very well," said Gisborne, also softening slightly. "You may stay."

"Thank you."

Guy placed a finger under his sister's chin and tilted it up. "But if I find you in Hood's company again, I will drag you back to Shrewsbury myself."

"You have my word," Isabella promised.

Gisborne nodded once and left the tent. Isabella's attention turned to Ajsa.

"You were with Robin Hood, too," she stated. "Why does my brother not threaten you like he threatens me?"

"He did," Ajsa replied. "But I am his property, and, as you well know, men are very possessive of their property."

Isabella gave her a wan smile. "Then you and I are not so very dissimilar. I, owned by my brute of a husband and you, by my brute of a brother."

"Yes," Ajsa agreed faintly. She poured two goblets of water and handed one to Isabella. "But you mistake my relation to your brother. I am his slave, not his wife."

"Yet he would protect you even after finding you in the company of his enemy?" asked Isabella, startled.

Ajsa shrugged and sipped at her drink. "I do not understand his mind," she said. "Nor, do I think, I wish to."

The other woman smiled at that. "In that we are in accord."

Ajsa was about to reply, when a commotion at the gate drew her and Isabella outside. They joined Gisborne at the mouth of the tent to watch Robin Hood stride into the camp, unarmed but still somehow cocky. Guy motioned for his guards to hold their attack.

"Welcome," he greeted.

Robin grinned and folded his hands behind his head. "I like what you've done with the place, Gisborne."

"I wasn't expecting your visit," replied Guy, earning a chuckle from the outlaw.

"Well, I find that very hard to believe." Robin's gaze settled on Isabella. "Given him a full report, have you?"

Gisborne answered for her. "There'll be no further conversation with my sister," he said coolly. "She knows where her loyalties lie."

"I'm sure she does." Ajsa noted that all traces of humor had left Robin's face, and his eyes blazed with angry determination. "So, would you like to hear my demands?"

"Demands?" echoed Guy, with a short, dry laugh. "Please, demand away."

"It's quite simple, really. Get out of my forest."

"Yeah, that's a reasonable request. Let me think," mused Gisborne. "Kill him."

Before the guards could capture Robin, nets fell down onto them upon the outlaw's command. He climbed atop the cart and pulled open the door, freeing the lion. Guy yanked Ajsa and Isabella back, while the guards simultaneously tried to avoid the beast and seize Robin Hood. They were, unsurprisingly, unsuccessful.

Gisborne was composed, almost resigned as he prepared his horse. Isabella followed him.

"Guy, what about your men? You can't just leave them."

"They failed me," he answered nonchalantly.

"Is that why you gave me to Squire Thornton?" she asked, sounding dejected. "Did I fail you, too?" Gisborne remained silent as he tightened his stallion's saddle. "Why won't you answer me? Don't you owe me that, at least?"

"I owe you nothing," Guy finally replied. "I did what was best."

"For who? You?" Isabella accused. "You did nothing but condemn me to Hell, and I demand to know why."

Gisborne looked at her sharply, his tone brusque as he said, "You're a foolish girl, and you do not understand the world."

"No, I understand perfectly. I just want to hear it from you." Isabella paused, and Guy averted his gaze from her. "Why did you give me away?" He did not answer, so she repeated the question more forcefully.

"Because he offered a fair price for you, that's why," snapped Gisborne. A tear slid down the woman's cheek, but Guy was not moved by it. "So, do you still require my protection?"

"You know I do," his sister said softly.

Gisborne hauled himself into the saddle, proffering a hand to Isabella. She took it, and he helped her up behind him.

"Am I to remain here and wait to be eaten by the lion, like your men?" Ajsa asked tartly.

She had been so quiet during his argument with Isabella that he'd completely forgotten about her presence. He glanced down at her, deliberating.

"I need to go the castle, and I'd rather not bring you there," he explained. "Return to Locksley Manor. I'll meet you there shortly."

"Understood, my lord," she said. "And which way _is_ Locksley Manor?"

Guy huffed impatiently. "East. You'll stumble across the village eventually, but if you don't, I'm sure Hood and his outlaws will be happy to find you again."

Spurring his horse forward, he did not see the rude gesture that Ajsa mimed at his back. Sighing, she picked up the skirt of her kirtle and set off into the forest, east, she hoped, towards Locksley.

#

After stumbling through the undergrowth for over two hours, Ajsa finally emerged from the trees onto a hill that looked down upon the village. The townspeople eyed her curiously as she made her way to the house, recognizing her as the slave who had been taken away by the Sheriff's men after Gisborne was presumed dead. Precisely _why_ she'd been removed from Locksley Manor, they did not know, but some of the more intelligent townsfolk believed that her return heralded that of Gisborne's.

And they were right, for not even twenty minutes had elapsed since Ajsa's arrival before Guy's stallion was thundering towards the house. Thornton greeted him with a shocked expression.

"My lord," he said quickly. "We were not expecting you...so soon."

Guy stabled his horse and scowled at the manservant.

"Or at all, from your reaction." He stalked inside, shedding his sword belt and jerkin as he went. "Have Mary start my dinner and send some of the servants to retrieve my things. The camp is due west of here."

Thornton nodded and disappeared to do his master's bidding.

"Ajsa, where are you?" Gisborne called loudly.

The woman poked her head around the doorway to the kitchen.

"I am here, Sir Guy," she answered, flinching when his angry gaze turned on her. "I was just about to cut up meat and vegetables for a stew."

"Let Mary do that. You come here." Ajsa stepped out from behind the door frame and wiped her hands on her apron. Grabbing a pitcher of wine from the table, she filled his goblet. He grunted in thanks, taking a deep, long drink. "Now," he said forebodingly, "explain to me why you were with Hood today."

She glanced down at his empty cup and reached for the pitcher again. But his hand on her wrist stopped her. Those crystal blue eyes stared back at her, their fire reignited.

"He saved me," she said simply.

"Saved you?" inquired Gisborne. "From what?"

"From the Sheriff."

Guy's features darkened, his grasp on her wrist tightening slightly but not painfully. "Explain."

"Vaisey was sending me to Hungary to acquire funding for a plot to overthrow King Richard or Prince John or Heaven knows who, but Robin Hood and his gang intervened."

Ajsa watched as Gisborne's brows rose in surprise. His grip loosened and let go entirely when she tugged her hand away.

"Who did he plan to get this money from?"

"The Hungarian king."

Guy sat down on the bench, a look of astonishment still on his face.

"And you could actually do this?" he asked.

"No," she said, with a scoff. "If I had that power, do you not think I would use it to free myself from the bonds of slavery instead? The Sheriff merely assumed that I am... _was_...a noblewoman."

"But you _were_ a noblewoman," Gisborne argued. "You said your king favored your father with land and title. That, in England, makes the two of you nobles." He paused, waiting for her to disagree. "Does Hungarian custom differ?"

"No," she said, so quietly that he barely heard her.

He tipped his head back and closed his eyes. Thomas had done it this time, that idiot slaver. If someone were of a mind to come after Ajsa, the repercussions would be unpleasant for Gisborne. Only pagans, prisoners of war, and non-Christians were allowed to be taken as slaves, but Guy was in possession of a damned Christian _noble_. He could have laughed at his shit luck.

"I have already assured you that no one will come searching for me," she reminded him. There it was again--that uncanny ability to know his thoughts.

He lifted his head to fix her with an irritated look.

"Yeah, you did, but now I wonder what you did to fall into Thomas' clutches."

Ajsa's eyes narrowed, and Gisborne felt a pang of excitement at the familiar show of defiance.

" _Nothing_ ," she spat angrily.

"I'm not a fool, Ajsa," he said, pouring himself a second goblet of wine. "Pretty, Christian noble girls don't become slaves."

"I was a healer," she said, shrugging. "Ugly, Christian noble men did not like that."

He grinned, pleased with himself to have wrested the truth from her.

"So, you were branded a witch, were you?" Ajsa flinched at his words. "Why not burn you at the stake, then?"

"Why do you think?" she retorted. "Money. I was more profitable to them alive than dead."

Gisborne suddenly remembered her limp. It had been the result of a broken ankle, she'd said. She had not elaborated on the circumstances, but now he thought he knew them.

"Yet you didn't escape unscathed."

Ajsa averted her gaze, staring intently at a table leg. She did not look up even when Guy approached her and placed a finger under her chin.

"What did they do to you?" he asked gently.

She shook her head, but he framed her face with his hands and allowed his thumbs to stroke her cheeks.

"Ajsa, tell me." For the second time since meeting him, Guy implored, instead of commanded. She slowly raised her gaze to his, tears shining in her eyes. His stomach lurched at the sight. "Come," he said. Gisborne led her up the stairs to his quarters, his wine and supper and belongings forgotten.

Seating her on the bed, he knelt at her feet.

"What did they do to you?"

She shook her head again, the first of her tears spilling over, with more forming in their wake. Contrary to popular opinion, Guy _did_ feel for others, and now, like with Marian after her father's death, he longed to console Ajsa.

But he checked the urge. Ajsa was not Marian; she was neither as warm nor as welcoming to another's sympathy. And she had good reason not to be, considering her experiences of late.

"It's all right," he reassured her. "You don't have to tell me."

"They did not break my ankle, if that is what you are thinking." He gave her a half-smile, because she'd anticipated his thoughts again. "That was my own doing when I tried to flee from Thomas." He furrowed his brows, and she smiled sheepishly. The momentary brightening of her features made his heart soar. "I lost my footing while running down a steep hill."

"But it healed?"

She nodded. "I fashioned a splint."

Guy murmured in approval, then did something completely inappropriate. He twitched aside the bottom hem of her dress to expose her ankles and brushed a finger over the one that had suffered the limp. Ajsa had tended to it well; there was no sign that the bone had been broken at all.

"You're skilled." He glanced up at her, his touch lingering on her skin and his breath stopping in his throat at the expression on her face. Gone were the tears. They were replaced by curiosity, tinged with admiration. Never before had he seen such an emotion directed at him. "I-I'm sorry," Guy said quickly and draped her kirtle over her ankles again. "I overstep."

Ajsa slid from the bed to the floor, crouching so that they were at eye-level.

"You do not," she disagreed. "You are, after all, my master. And as such, you may do with me as you please." He opened his mouth to reply, but she cut him off. "Even were you not my master, you do not overstep."

He tried to respond again, and once again, the words did not come, for she had leaned forward and kissed his cheek.

"Gratitude," she said softly.

Standing, Ajsa stepped carefully around him and walked from the room, leaving a stunned Gisborne still kneeling on the floor.


	15. Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guy is once again taken by Prince John's men, but he returns to something far sweeter this time.

It was well past midnight when Ajsa was roused from sleep by the neighing of horses and the thundering of hooves. She sat upright on her cot, listening. The commotion was heading towards Locksley Manor. The violent slamming of the front door against the wall made her jump, and she covered her mouth to muffle her startled shriek.

Stumbling out of bed, she crept cautiously into the kitchen, just in time to see four soldiers run upstairs. Seconds later, Gisborne's shouts resounded through the house, and she rushed up the stairs without thinking. The soldiers were hauling him from his quarters, though not without difficulty. He struggled. He kicked and jabbed and almost got free, but, strong as he was, Guy of Gisborne was no match for four.

The sight filled Ajsa with dread, and when he glimpsed her, he fought even harder against his captors' hold.

"Where are you taking him?" she demanded. "This is Sir Guy of Gisborne you are manhandling. He is the Sheriff's deputy."

"Outta the way, girl," snarled one of the soldiers.

He pushed Ajsa aside, which seemed to incense Gisborne enough to hit one of the men in the nose with his elbow. Reeling in pain, the man released him.

"I will return, Ajsa," he promised, in between his continued attempts to free himself. "You won't be left alone again."

And then he was being half-carried down the stairs, curses trailing in his wake. Ajsa watched the soldiers lead him outside, before the door slammed shut. She sat down on the top step, heedless of the dirt from the men's boots, and waited. All the while, her fear intensified.

Ajsa did not know how long she'd sat there, but it was still pitch dark when the door opened and Guy walked through it. In the dim interior, his gaze met hers. They stared at each other as he slowly climbed the stairs, stopping when he reached the step below the one on which she perched.

"You return."

"I told you I would," he reminded her.

"Are you injured?"

He sat down beside her. "No."

But she did not appear to believe him, for she scrutinized his face in the dark. He let her, a tendril a warmth unfurling in his chest at her concern. Apart from his disheveled appearance, she could see no evidence of maltreatment. She nodded, satisfied.

"Who were those men?"

"Members of Prince John's elite guard," replied Gisborne. "He summoned me because he wants me to kill Vaisey."

"What?" Ajsa gaped at him. "But why? I thought he and the Sheriff were allies."

"Apparently Vaisey does not love him," Gisborne said dryly. He made a face, almost of disgust. "And the prince _needs_ to be loved. So, I pledged my fealty to him and agreed to kill Vaisey, in exchange for becoming the new Sheriff of Nottingham."

She was still gaping at him, but not in shock anymore.

"Sir Guy, no."

"No?" he repeated. "What do you mean 'no'? Do you know what I have endured from that foul, little man? He has ridiculed me, scorned me, denied me the glory I deserve, and used me as _payment_ to Prince John." He glared straight ahead, his hands clenched into fists. "So don't tell me no."

"I do not tell you not to kill him," Ajsa said, "merely not to become Sheriff."

Now Guy was surprised. "Why not? I will be powerful and wealthy, which will benefit you, too."

"There are more important things than power and wealth," she said softly.

"Really?" he asked mockingly. "Like what?"

"Like freedom."

"But I will be free," he stated. "I'll be free of Vaisey and free to pursue Hood how _I_ want to."

"But you will not be free of Prince John."

"So what do you suggest? That I refuse the prince's mandate?" He scoffed, partly in amusement and partly in derision. "I may as well slip the noose around my neck."

Ajsa sighed in exasperation. " _Leave_ Nottingham."

"And let Hood win? Never," growled Guy. "Besides, what would happen to you if I left? Vaisey would seize you again or you'd be passed from one man to another. Or worse, you'd end up an outlaw with Robin Hood."

"And being a slave for the rest of my life is a better fate?"

Gisborne raised his hand, hesitating, then clasped her own.

"No, it's not," he agreed. "I wouldn't leave you here."

She laughed mirthlessly. "You would take me with you so that I may continue to serve you. How very generous of you, my lord."

"Aye," he said, bristling. "It's generous that I don't let you be fucked by the scum of Nottingham. That pretty redhead who was also in the slave market likely met such a fate, as did many of the other women and even some of the men."

"You are right, of course," she said and squeezed his hand. His brows rose in surprise; he had clearly expected her to continue arguing. She shrugged when she glimpsed his expression. "I am too tired to bicker with you now. Perhaps in the morning." Ajsa let go of his hand and stood. "Good night, Sir Guy."

She turned to descend the stairs, but Gisborne caught her hand again.

"I'm aware this isn't proper," he began, with a hint of uncertainty in his voice, "but would you...stay? I don't want to sleep alone tonight."

"No, it is _not_ proper. You are master, and I am slave."

He almost smirked. Of course she would protest. Nothing was ever easy with Ajsa, but he no longer minded.

"You're more than a slave," he said gently. "I confide in you. I _trust_ you." He paused, his eyes scanning her face in the silvery light of the moon. "Nights are...bad, Ajsa. You know this."

And there it was--the subtle softening of her stony expression.

"Will you light the hearth?" she asked, and Guy knew that was her acquiescence.

"Yes." He stood, as well, and led her into his bedchamber. After lighting a fire, he joined her on the bed. "I will sleep atop the quilt, if you would prefer."

She settled under the covers, and Gisborne couldn't ignore the faint pull of lust in his groin nor the realization that he wanted her in his bed for more than just companionship.

"That is not necessary," she said, giving him a small smile. Her smiles were few and far between, and even less often directed at him, so he savored each one. "I trust you."

A warmth spread through his body that had nothing to do with the crackling hearth. He lay down under the quilt, ready to sleep. But when he felt Ajsa's lips on his forehead, his eyes flew open. He must have looked stunned, for she indulged him with yet another smile, except this one was much sweeter.

"May your dreams be peaceful tonight."

Guy opened his mouth, but no words came out. By the time he had thought of a reply, Ajsa was already on the other side of the bed, her eyes closed, with one hand beneath the pillow and the other resting against her breast.

"Yours, too, Ajsa," he whispered.

She made no indication of having heard him, but somehow, he knew she had.


	16. Salvation and Damnation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite the drought in Locksley, Guy and Ajsa experience a deluge of emotions. 
> 
> Warning: Long chapter ahead.

The flame of the candles flickered as the night breeze wafted in through the open windows, casting sinuous shapes on the wall. Locksley Manor was quiet. Mary and the other servants had long gone home, leaving only Ajsa to keep vigil over the large house. She was seated upon a cushioned chair by one of the windows, a needle moving dexterously between her fingers. With Guy's penchant for fighting, it seemed like she was always mending some article of clothing or another. The tears had become so numerous on one of his old tunics that Ajsa had been forced to sew him a new one--black, of course, for he would wear no other color. It suited him, suited his fair skin and light eyes and dark-as-night hair. It also contributed to the villagers' opinion that he was the Devil's right hand man, though Ajsa disagreed. Gisborne was no saint, but she had known wickeder men than him.

Finishing a seam, Ajsa sighed and abandoned the half-completed shirt in her lap. Sewing was a skill that most women, high- and low-born alike, learned during girlhood. She'd always been particularly good at it, and that ability had apparently transferred to healing, as well. Once they'd seen her proficiency with sutures, the people in her village had sought her out, and she soon became more popular than the male physicians. Their ineffective and often dangerous treatments fell out of favor in the face of Ajsa's herbs and stitches. Limbs were saved from infection and subsequent amputation, while further weakening of the body was prevented when she rejected leeches and bloodletting. But, she acknowledged, leeches _did_ have their uses. When a three-year-old boy had suffered a venomous snake bite on his foot, she had secured a tourniquet on his lower calf to slow the progression of the venom and had used leeches on the wound to remove the tainted blood. The boy had survived, and Ajsa had become even more respected as a healer.

The physicians, however, were less pleased with her. Many of them were monks and friars, who announced that, because she eschewed the religious texts on healing, she was channeling Satan's power and was therefore a witch. Two days later, by authority of the local priest, Ajsa was captured by soldiers and sentenced to death by burning at the stake. The only thing that had saved her was Thomas' timely arrival in the region.

She snorted at the idea that the slaver had in fact been her salvation. But she had lost her freedom that day, if not her life, and she'd yet to reclaim it. Picking up the shirt again, she began sewing another seam, only to be interrupted as the door flew open.

Guy limped inside, bearing a grimace with each step.

"You are injured," Ajsa remarked, startled.

She hurriedly set down the tunic and closed the door behind him. He collapsed onto the nearest chair, while she knelt in front of him to inspect the damage. His left thigh had been pierced with a blade and was bleeding at a steady rate. She plucked the dagger from his sword belt and cut into his breeches.

"Oi, watch it!" he snapped.

Ajsa rolled her eyes. "I must see the injury if I am to mend it." She ripped a large hole into the fabric of his trousers. "And then I must sew you a new pair of breeches."

Now that her view of the puncture was unobstructed, she rushed into the kitchen to fetch clean cloths, bandages, and a bowl of hot water. She dabbed at the wound carefully and thoroughly, then felt the edges of the puncture. Her fingers stroked confidently over his thigh, her brows knit in concentration. Had the circumstances been different, he might have derived more pleasure from her touch, but as it was, he grunted in pain when she pressed a cloth to his wound to staunch the bleeding.

"It is deep but thankfully neither fatal nor long," said Ajsa, readying the needle by holding it above the candle's flame. During her years as her village's healer, she'd noticed that wounds healed better if the needle was subjected to heat beforehand, though she did not know why. "Nevertheless, I shall need to stitch it. Remain very still, Sir Guy, or else I may hurt you more than necessary."

"I'm a soldier," retorted Gisborne. "I have endured worse injuries than this. Now get on with it, before I bleed out."

Ajsa obliged him. The needle pierced his flesh a little harder than expected, causing him to wince.

"Oh dear, my hand must have slipped," she said innocently. "I did not hurt you, did I?"

Gisborne glared at her but remained silent. Ajsa worked quickly and efficiently after that, setting neat stitches to stop the bleeding and to hold the edges of the wound together. She wrapped a clean, white bandage around his thigh, knotting it gingerly but tightly enough to secure it. He was surprised by how little pain he had felt during the procedure.

"There, all finished," Ajsa announced. "I will change the dressing every day and remove the stitches in five days."

She collected the soiled equipment and stood, but Gisborne grabbed her sleeve. She turned to him again, waiting. His expression, which had been stormy since his return, softened measurably.

"The people in your village were fortunate to have a healer such as you."

She nodded. "Yes, they were, but now they are once again at the mercy of those pious butchers."

He pushed himself up and followed her into the kitchen to watch her boil more water. Pouring it into a bucket, she began to wash the needle, bowl, and blood-soaked cloths. Steam rose off the water's surface, but Ajsa submerged her hands without so much as a flinch. Gisborne couldn't help but marvel at that.

"I do not think most Christian men should be in authority," she explained. "They are superstitious and ignorant, and they believe that smearing cow dung into a wound will heal it."

"But you disagree," he stated, leaning against the door frame. "And I've no doubt you were outspoken in your protests." Ajsa shot him a pointed glance as she tidied the kitchen. He crossed his arms over his chest and tracked her movements with an amused gaze. "No wonder the Christian men didn't like you."

She scoffed. "The opinions of those putrid, old toads mattered little to me. I was too busy tending to the festering wounds their holy physicians caused." Ajsa fixed him with a tight, humorless smile. "Do you know what dung does to a wound? It inflames the flesh and makes it weep blood and pus. If the person is fortunate, the injury may still heal with proper treatment. But if the flesh turns black with rot, only removal of the affected area can save the person."

Gisborne straightened, growing serious. The mirthless smile had vanished from her face, and a haunted look had settled into her eyes, as though she were seeing the necrotic wounds all over again.

"I have witnessed amputations of limbs in battle," he said quietly, "but they were not the result of botched treatments."

"Not usually, no," she agreed. "The carnage I witnessed in the Holy Land was terrible, but it was easier to watch than the damage the church physicians inflicted. Babies died because monks thought that bleeding sick infants would cure them. Feverish children died because priests prayed over their bodies, instead of tending to them. So many lives shortened or lost because of Christian medicine."

"So you _are_ a witch."

Ajsa glanced at him sharply, angrily.

"I am not," she spat. "I merely believe that Christianity, or any religion, is dangerous when employed in ways it was never meant to be."

"Are you a Christian, then?"

"By birth, yes. In belief, no," she replied. "But I acknowledge the existence of a supreme creator."

Guy stared at her, troubled though not entirely surprised by her admission. He had known she harbored ill feelings towards Christianity--and he couldn't even blame her for it--, but if anyone in Nottingham learned of her sentiments, she would be branded a witch for a second time.

"You must keep these thoughts to yourself, Ajsa, do you understand?" he urged her.

"I am not simple, Sir Guy," she said scathingly. "I know that this time, there will not be a Thomas to pay off my executioners."

He frowned at that. "Do you truly believe I would allow you to burn? I have protected you thus far, yet you doubt that I shall continue to do so."

"I believe that you would try to protect me," she replied. "But if the Sheriff decrees my death, you could not stop him."

"The Sheriff will not decree your death," he assured her, "because _I_ am now Sheriff."

Aja's mouth fell open. "You killed Vaisey."

"Yes," Gisborne said, with a smug smirk.

"How?"

"I stabbed him with the same dagger he'd plunged into my thigh."

"You were foolish to pull out that dagger," she scolded him. "If it had severed something important, you would have bled out before reaching Locksley Manor."

He arched an eyebrow. "Is that concern I detect, Ajsa?"

"For myself only," she said bluntly. "As you have often reminded me, I would be little more than a whore without your protection, and you cannot protect me if you are dead."

A few months ago, Gisborne might have reacted angrily to her words. But now he merely went to her and tilted up her chin to meet his gaze. Her breath faltered slightly at the soft blue of his normally hard eyes.

"Is that it, Ajsa? Do you only care about me because I can protect you?" She did not respond, but neither did she wrench away from his gentle hold. "When I ask that you sleep beside me, you acquiesce. When I get taken in the middle of the night, you stay awake until I return. When I show you my demons, you give me the strength to fight them." He paused, allowing his thumb to stroke her neck. "If your motives were entirely selfish, you would not do these things."

"I...do not despise you," she said stiffly, and Gisborne smirked. "Let that be enough for now."

"Very well, Ajsa." He stepped back, wincing as his thigh muscle twinged. "Thank you for tending my injury."

She nodded. "Do not overexert yourself, for I would rather not have to redo your sutures."

"Yes, healer," he said, his lips twitching in amusement. She sighed in exasperation, then walked into her small quarters next to the kitchen. Guy's voice trailed behind her. "Aren't you going to congratulate me for killing Vaisey and becoming the new Sheriff?"

The only reply he received was the bang of the door as she shut it. He chuckled, blew out the candles in the main room, and scaled the stairs to his own bedchamber. As he stripped and lay down on the bed, he felt the absence of her body next to his.

#

Gisborne shoved his damp hair out of his face, feeling the sweat drip down his back. Perhaps black was not the best color to wear in the height of summer, but even the villagers, who wore flimsier clothing, were sweating. There had been hot summers before, but never like this one. The heat was oppressive, relentlessly beating down on Nottingham, like waves beat upon the shore.

Water was scarce. Locksley's well had dried up, though the manor had no shortage of the cool, clear liquid. Ajsa--damn her or bless her--had taken to doling out buckets of water to the families that most needed them. Guy noted that she was partial to children. Although he did not mimic her charity, as long as the villagers didn't turn riotous to obtain their share, he would allow her this good deed. Heaven knew he could do with a little penance.

When Prince John visited, however, Gisborne strictly forbade her to interact with the townsfolk. He had to show the prince that he governed with a firm hand, and that included his household servants, as well. Ajsa had, of course, railed against him at first, but she understood that more than Guy's position was at stake, should either one of them evoke Prince John's displeasure. So she accepted his commands with only a modicum of defiance.

"Ah, Gisborne," said the prince, as he walked through the door. "It is _so_ much cooler in here. What a marvelous idea to cover the open windows with dark fabric to keep the sunlight out." He felt one of the curtains between his fingers and reveled in the breeze that ruffled his hair. "Now, the last time I was here, I had my eye on a rather fetching, little serving girl. Where is she?"

Guy barely restrained the snarl that leapt into his throat.

"She is ill, Sire," he replied brusquely.

During the prince's first visit to Locksley Manor, Ajsa had been the one to refill his goblet with wine. Prince John had taken a liking to her, because she'd been forced to endure his flirtations for the rest of the night. Had Gisborne known that she would catch Prince John's attention, he would have kept her out of sight, as he did now. But he'd believed that Isabella held his interest.

And evidently Isabella did, too, if her sudden glare was any indication.

Prince John frowned. "What a pity." Mary poured him a cup of water, and he brightened. "So, now that you're Sheriff, how do you intend to deal with Robin Hood?"

Isabella excused herself and went outside. Rounding the back of the house, she came across Ajsa chucking a bucket of onion peel and cucumber skins into the neighbor's pig pen.

"Ajsa," she called out softly, and the woman turned to face her. "My brother said you are ill, yet he still makes you work?"

There was no hint of suspicion in her question, but Ajsa treaded carefully nonetheless. If Isabella were loyal to Prince John, she might tell him of Gisborne's lie. On the other hand, Isabella had been mistreated by men and was therefore unlikely to betray Ajsa to a man.

"I prefer to avoid the prince," she said vaguely.

Isabella understood. She waited for Ajsa to set down the bucket, then took her hands.

"I must confide in someone, and I feel that I can trust you," she said. "I would prefer to avoid the prince, too, but I cannot rely on my brother to protect me. He is far less fond of me than he seems to be of you." Ajsa started to protest, but Isabella quieted her with a squeeze of her hands. "No, I am not resentful, but it is the truth. And until I can find another protector, Prince John is the only one I have."

Ajsa empathized, for she was also in a similar situation.

"He is a good protector to have," she said. "But he is fickle. His favor shifts with the wind."

"Yes," Isabella agreed, "which is why I am braving this heat." Ajsa's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and the black-haired woman flashed her a conspiratorial smile. "I'm meeting with Robin Hood."

Ajsa was usually intuitive about people, but this time, she was shocked. She stared at Isabella, slightly aghast.

"If your brother were to learn of this..." Ajsa trailed off. "If the _prince_ were to learn of this-"

"I'll be as good as dead," Isabella finished for her. "You will not expose my secret, will you?"

"Of course not," Ajsa assured her. "Women in this world have no allies but each other, so I will keep your secret if you will keep mine."

Isabella smiled brightly. "Thank you. I knew I could trust you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a dashing outlaw to see."

Ajsa watched her walk towards the blacksmith's stall, where Robin indeed awaited her. He appeared to be genuinely happy as he offered her a strawberry, and Isabella was equally happy to accept it.

Granting the couple their privacy, Ajsa went back inside to continue Guy's supper. He had grown tired of mutton, so she was making chicken legs stewed in a sauce of onions, garlic, and spices, served with dumplings and a salad of pickled cucumbers and onions. The dish had sentimental value to Ajsa, for it was the last thing her mother had cooked before her death. It was also one of her childhood favorites.

During her first few months at Locksley Manor, Ajsa had made many foods from Hungary, due partly to homesickness and partly to her unfamiliarity with English cuisine. Gisborne was initially skeptical of the heavily spiced dishes, but he soon warmed up to them, though he still requested the occasional meat pie. On those days, Mary prepared his dinner.

She heard the front door slam shut and Guy's footsteps nearing the kitchen. He stood beside a basket of vegetables, his customary glower clouding his handsome features.

"Bloody hell, woman, how aren't you melting in here? Get away from the hearth, before you collapse of heat stroke."

"Our summers are hotter back home, so I am accustomed to such heat." Ajsa glanced up at him, noting the sheen of sweat on his face. She arched an amused brow. "I am also not wearing layers upon layers of dark clothing. Remove your jerkin, at least."

"Later," muttered Guy. "Prince John wants me to kill my sister."

Her grip on the wooden spoon slackened. " _What_?"

"He saw Isabella with Robin Hood in a rather...compromising position," said Gisborne. "If the prince is right, then she has betrayed me once again."

"Sir Guy, you are not truly considering murdering your own sister," remarked Ajsa in disbelief.

"She committed treason!" he spat. "And she lied to me. I cannot disobey Prince John, or it'll be _my_ head on the chopping block." Gisborne knelt down beside her by the hearth, the glow of the fire tingeing his skin an orange-bronze color. "And then, when he's gotten rid of me like he did of Vaisey, he'll take you for himself."

Ajsa's hand faltered in its stirring--not because of the threat of becoming the prince's plaything, but because of Guy's concern for her. She tried to ignore the fluttering in her stomach.

"You could fake Isabella's death," she suggested. "Or send her away."

"If only it were that simple," he lamented. His hand rose, hesitating, before he tucked a wayward strand of hair behind Ajsa's ear. "I've been ordered to follow Isabella and report her movements to the prince. I have to tell him _some_ thing, but if I lie to protect her and he finds out, I'll be charged with treason, as well." Leaning forward, he peeked into the pot. "Thank God it's not mutton."

Gisborne stood and watched her poke at the crackling logs in an effort to avoid meeting his gaze. The way he had been looking at her set her off-kilter, and she didn't know how to cope with it.

"I shall return by evening."

He lingered another half a moment, then left through the back door. Ajsa's legs gave out beneath her, and she sat down on the kitchen floor. The lid clattered loudly as she covered the pot with more force than was necessary. Lying down, Ajsa closed her eyes, the cool of the stone a pleasant contrast to the sweltering waves emanating from the hearth.

She remained like that for an hour, periodically checking on the chicken and earning baffled glances from Mary whenever she entered the room. But Ajsa ignored her. For the first time since the debacle in Orosháza, she felt at peace.

#

By late afternoon, the worst of the heat had dissipated, but the well and stream were still dried up. Robin's gang had stolen some of the castle's water barrels for the villagers, but luck was not on their side. While they were distributing the water, Prince John trotted into Locksley.

He had initially offered to share his water with them, but that changed when he glimpsed his insignia on the barrel. Ajsa watched, aghast, as the guards drowned a man in the precious liquid, then tipped over the barrel.

Gisborne returned soon after, sweaty and disheveled. She brought him a goblet of water, waiting for the inevitable tirade to come.

"She called me a louse, Ajsa," he ground out.

"Who did?" she asked, taking the empty cup he thrust in her direction. She refilled it and handed it back to him.

" _Isabella_ ," he said impatiently. "Who else?"

"You were spying on her," Ajsa pointed out.

He gave her a hard look. "I wouldn't have needed to spy on her if she'd been loyal to me. Instead she's kissing Robin Hood in meadows and telling him all our plans."

"What plans?" Ajsa asked. Prince John's sudden and short-lived generosity towards the townsfolk had disquieted her, and now she knew why. "Sir Guy, is the prince responsible for this drought?"

"Of course he is," Gisborne said. "It's all part of his goal to get the people of this miserable village to love him. He blocked the overflow chamber at the castle that feeds Locksley's water supply, then intended to swoop in the hero with his own personal stores." Guy scowled in disgust. "It's ridiculous."

"And fruitless," she added. He glanced at her, his brows furrowing. "The outlaws stole some of the prince's barrels. When he found out, he taxed the water. He is now no more a hero than Vaisey was."

Despite his dour mood, Guy roared with laughter.

"I can almost see his outrage. What a pathetic and insufferable man."

"Yes, quite," Ajsa murmured, not sharing his amusement. "You did not kill Isabella, did you?"

"No," he said, sobering instantly. "I offered her a final chance to prove her loyalty to me, but she and Hood knocked me unconscious and-" He broke off with a scowl.

"And what?" she prompted.

"Nothing," he barked, changing the subject. "You'll be pleased to learn that I'm no longer Sheriff. Prince John dismissed me."

"Why would I be pleased about that?"

"You didn't want me to be under the prince's thumb," Gisborne answered. "Well, now I'm not. I'm effectively an outlaw, like Hood." He bowed his head, his hair veiling his face. From his rigid posture, however, it was clear that he was troubled.

"Why did he dismiss you?" she asked softly.

Guy lay down on a bench and rested his hands on his stomach.

"I failed to kill Robin Hood." He closed his eyes and swallowed hard, his throat bobbing with the action. "And Isabella," he added acerbically.

"I see."

His eyes opened and oriented on her. "Before you think it, I did not spare their lives intentionally. I'd planned a slow death for them, but Prince John discovered them alive before that could happen." Ajsa's expression remained neutral, and she did not respond, so Guy averted his gaze to the wooden beams crisscrossed above. "I see the villagers have access to water again," he remarked.

"Yes, I heard their cheers," she said. "Was that Robin's doing?"

"Of course it was," he said sourly. "Ever the champion of the people. Even when his life is at stake, he puts them first. But," he mused, his foul temper lifting for a moment, "losing the post of Sheriff was almost worth the indignant fury on the prince's face when Hood escaped."

Ajsa gave a quiet laugh. "Did he whine? I have noticed that he is prone to whining, as though he were a petulant child whose toy has been taken away."

"He didn't whine this time," said Guy, with a grin. Then he sighed. "Is there food?"

"There is. Shall I bring you some?"

But Gisborne was already on his feet, striding into the kitchen. Ajsa followed him, staring at the back of his head while he heaped chicken and dumplings onto a plate and pickled cucumbers into a small bowl.

"There are leaves in your hair."

The wooden spoon froze halfway to the pot. He cleared his throat and said awkwardly, "Like I said, Hood and Isabella knocked me out."

Gisborne walked back into the main room and sat down at the table. Ajsa poured him a goblet of wine.

"Would you like me to remove them?" she asked.

He flashed her a look of scorn as he began to eat.

"If you would be so kind."

Ajsa stood behind him and plucked the dry leaves from his hair. But she did not retreat; she lingered, hesitating only briefly before she combed her fingers through the damp, tangled strands. Gisborne, unaccustomed to such attention, stiffened in mid-chew. His first instinct was to pull away and reprimand her, but he stayed it. After a few seconds, he even relaxed, his dinner forgotten in favor of the gentle tug on his scalp.

"How is the _csirke_?" she asked.

"The what?"

"The chicken."

"Oh," he muttered. Her tone was so casual that he wondered if she knew the effect her touch was having on him. "It's, uh, good." To support his answer, he took a large bite of the drumstick and speared a few dumplings onto his knife. "Very tender."

"I am glad." Her ministrations continued for an instant longer, then her fingers withdrew. Gisborne felt their loss keenly. "More wine, my lord?"

He looked at his cup, which was still full.

"Not right now."

"Very well," she replied. He was half-expecting her to add a curtsey, as well. "If you need anything, I shall be in the kitchens."

"Ajsa, wait."

"Yes, my lord?"

He set down the drumstick and wiped his hands on a spare cloth.

"Stop calling me that," he commanded, but his tone lacked its usual venom. "Come here. Sit down." She did, observing him patiently and serenely. "Are you hungry?"

"I have eaten."

"Right, well..." He cleared his throat and looked at her. "I wanted to thank you."

"For removing the leaves from your hair?"

"Yes." His lips twitched in amusement. "And for not despising me. I deserve to be hated," Guy said, "especially by you. Yet you mend my clothes and treat my wounds and prepare my meals..."

He wiped his hands again, though they were already clean, and reached for hers. Ajsa's gaze followed the movement, and she tentatively met him halfway. The tips of their fingers touched, and then their palms, as his large, rough hands closed around her much smaller ones.

"You have been my salvation," he confessed softly. "But all I have been is your damnation. Tomorrow I may have to leave Locksley Manor, and if I do, I will be an outlaw, living in the forest to evade the prince's men. That is no life for you, Ajsa. You don't belong here."

"No, I do not," she replied faintly. "But here I am, and here I shall remain."

Guy shook his head. "No. I will take you to the coast tomorrow so that you may return home."

"You are freeing me?" she asked, astounded.

"I am."

Her eyes were wide as she stared at him. He could guess the thoughts running through her mind, the doubts about his sincerity, and he offered her a small, shy smile. She dropped her gaze to their joined hands.

"You are freeing me."

"Yes, Ajsa," he affirmed. The first drop of liquid landed on the inside of his wrist, followed by a second and a third. His heart thudded with each splash. "Look at me." Even to his own ears, he sounded breathless.

She obeyed him. Her moss-green eyes were bright with tears, but she was smiling. One of her hands left his to stroke his stubbled cheek.

"Thank you," she whispered, her smile growing even sweeter when the thumb of his free hand wiped away her tears. "But I must stay."

"What? No, you must go," he insisted, perplexed.

"I must stay," she repeated, "because you need me." He gasped harshly when she leaned forward and kissed the scar on his cheekbone. "To tend to your injuries, if nothing else."

"I do need you," he confessed, almost desperately. "But I also need you to be happy." She had become so ingrained in his life that his happiness now partly depended on hers.

"When I met you, the urge to inflict pain upon you was strong," she admitted, earning a half-amused and half-reproachful look from Gisborne. "Since then, however, you have improved and have even become tolerable."

"You push your luck, woman," he cautioned her, but they both knew his warning was harmless.

"I do," she agreed, "and with a great deal of enjoyment."

Gisborne ducked his head in an attempt to muffle his chuckle. Ajsa disarmed him in every way--when she angered him, as well as when she soothed him. Like Marian, she could stoke his fire and calm it, too, but _un_ like Marian, Ajsa had no ulterior motive in doing so. The realization hit him hard, and he glanced at her. She was beautiful; that had been evident from the very beginning, despite her thin, bedraggled state. But she was also deceptively sweet beneath that chilly exterior.

"If you're willing to stay, then I shall not reject you," he said.

"See that you do not," she said gravely. "A woman scorned is a frightening sight to behold."

Gisborne smirked. "Aye, I've no doubt of that, for I have sampled your displeasure already."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chicken stew with dumplings that Ajsa cooks for Guy is a medieval version of the Hungarian _paprikás csirke_ , which includes tomatoes, peppers, and paprika. However, since all three of those ingredients are indigenous only to the New World, pre-1492 Europe would not have had them yet. 
> 
> Additionally, just a quick reminder that Orosháza is Ajsa's hometown (homevillage?).


	17. Give and Take

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After his failure to kill Robin and Isabella, Gisborne goes to Locksley to confront his sister. But he gets more than he bargained for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not plan the events in this chapter. Rated E.

Guy contemplated the series of events that had led him to be trudging through Sherwood Forest. Ill luck, poor decisions, and a changeable prince had all played a role, but the main cause of his current misfortune was that godforsaken band of outlaws.

Still, for the first time, he felt something akin to sympathy for Robin Hood, because now their situations were identical. They were both noblemen, banished from their previous titles and forced to roam the woods as outcasts. That their contributing choices differed was of little consequence to Gisborne. He and Robin had the same goal--to oppose Prince John.

After the prince had dismissed him as Sheriff, he'd offered the post, as well as Locksley Manor, to Isabella, who had insisted that Ajsa remain. Guy scowled. When had Ajsa become such close friends with his treacherous sister? Isabella would only betray her in the end, as people of ambition were wont to do. But perhaps Ajsa did not know that, so he sneaked back into the house, with the aim of warning her.

The end result, however, was quite different from his original intent.

"Hello, Sister," he greeted, stepping out from behind a wooden beam.

Isabella grabbed a knife from the table and struck, but Gisborne was quicker. She managed only to cut his hand, before he took the weapon from her and drew his sword.

"Guy, please, please," begged his sister. "Just wait."

"For you to betray me again?" Guy bellowed.

"You got what you deserved."

He shoved Isabella against a beam, keeping her there with his hand and sword at her throat. Ajsa watched from the shadows, along with Sarah, Isabella's maid.

"And you will get what you deserve," Gisborne assured her.

"So kill me," said his sister. "You did as much to me when I was a child anyway."

"Is that to be your dying thought?" he asked, in a mocking tone.

Sarah tried to go to Isabella's aid, but Ajsa held her back. Guy's next actions were critical, and they had to be made completely of his own volition.

"Yes," Isabella whispered. "Go on, end it now. Put us both out of our misery." He touched the flat of his sword against her throat, staring down at her, hesitating. Isabella tried a new tactic. "Maybe we can change things," she said hopefully. "King Richard is dead, and Prince John is due to be crowned."

"What?" breathed Gisborne.

"That's right. I can help you."

"How can you help me?" he asked, shaking his head in disbelief.

"I can speak for you," Isabella replied. "But for that, you need me alive. Kill me, and you kill your last chance back with the new king. Let me live, and we both get what we want."

He scanned her face, deliberating, then backed away and sheathed his sword. His sister sighed in relief, and was echoed by Sarah and Ajsa.

"Thank you, Guy," said his sister.

He briefly wondered at the state of their relationship that she should feel the need to thank him for sparing her life, but then Isabella retreated upstairs with her maid, leaving Ajsa alone with Gisborne.

"Were you really going to kill her?" she asked, after a moment of silence. She joined Guy beneath the moonlight that shone in through the windows.

"I thought so, yes," he replied. "But when the moment came, I couldn't do it. Isabella doesn't have to know that, though."

"I think she does know," commented Ajsa. "Your hesitation told her as much."

Gisborne arched a brow. "Are you suggesting that I should have killed her?" She flashed him a look of scorn in response. His lips twitched. "I didn't think so." He allowed his gaze to rove over her body, taking in the curve of her hips and the dip in her waist. It had only been a day since he had seen her, yet he'd already longed for the sight of her. "She is treating you well?"

"Yes, very well," Ajsa nodded. "Isabella has a good heart, but it has been ill-used one too many times." She smiled ruefully. "Such is the fate of women, I suppose."

"But no longer for you," he promised. Guy tilted up her chin so that he could look into her eyes. "While you are with me, Ajsa, I swear that no further harm will befall you."

"I thank you," she said gratefully, "but do you not think you should offer the same promise of protection to Isabella?"

"You heard her. She can protect herself now, _and_ me, as well," Gisborne replied spitefully.

Ajsa considered this, then nodded. "True. You should have protected her when she could not protect herself."

"That's what I thought I was doing." He glanced out the window, at the waxing gibbous moon. "It's late, and I still have to make camp somewhere." He also did not want to speak about his past.

"Are you certain you still know how to? As I recall, Mary and I prepare your meals, while Thornton lays your fires."

"Oh, and I suppose you did all of that yourself as a noblewoman, did you?" Guy retorted.

"Indeed I did," she agreed.

"Did you hunt your own food, as well?"

"No," she conceded, "but I did care for our pigs and poultry." Ajsa paused and offered him a small, conspiratorial smile. "I do not miss it."

Gisborne chuckled. "All right, you have me beat. I've never tended livestock in my life."

"And I have never fought a battle in my life," she said. "I do not think I would want to."

"I don't think I would want you to either," he remarked, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "We should both retire for the night. I shall see you in the morning." Guy allowed his thumb to stroke her cheek, before he pulled away and made for the door.

Her voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Since you are already at the manor, perhaps you should sleep here."

"Isabella has taken my chambers," he reminded her.

She met his gaze. In the bright moonlight, he saw her lick her lips. The sight ignited a long-suppressed warmth in his loins.

"Yes," she agreed, "but Isabella has not taken mine."

Before he could gather his wits to protest, Ajsa took his hand and led him to her quarters. A small bed was pushed against one wall, while a wooden trunk sat against another. The furnishings were sparse, but at least there was a fireplace that provided ample heat.

"The bed is too small," he observed unnecessarily.

"Then we must sleep very close to each other."

Gisborne glanced at the cot again. "It would not be proper," he demurred. "If you insist that I sleep here, I will do so on the floor."

"This is an odd time for you to develop a conscience," Ajsa said dryly. He glared at her. "If you are truly concerned about propriety, worry not, Sir Guy. You will be compromising no virtues that have not been compromised already."

He looked at her, taken aback by the frank confession. "You are not a virgin?"

"At eight and twenty? Decidedly not," she replied, with a wry smile. Then she pulled him down by his shirt strings and kissed him.

Guy had been kissed similarly by Marian, but he now knew she'd only done so in the aid of her precious Hood. He remembered the joy he had felt that finally she was beginning to return his affections, that finally she could be his. But she had loved another all along.

He broke the kiss, panting harshly from the memories of his most heinous crime.

"Marian, she-" Guy averted his gaze, unable to look at Ajsa. If she were to reject him, too, he could not bear to see it. "She loved Robin Hood. She-"

"I know," said Ajsa softly, "but _I_ do not love Robin Hood." He chanced a glance at her and saw a warmth in her eyes that had never been there before. "We each have our sins, Sir Guy. Let us cleanse them tonight."

"With sex out of wedlock," he stated, arching a brow. "Wouldn't that merely add to our sins, instead of lessening them?"

She grinned. "Only if you are Christian." Ajsa knelt on the bed, and this time, he needed no prompting to go to her. He kissed her, reveling in the feel of her soft lips on his. When they separated, there was an amused glint in her lust-darkened eyes. "And I can say with absolute certainty that neither one of us is."

He considered protesting that he was, in fact, a Christian, but that would have been a lie. Gisborne had long ago eschewed religion, in favor of more lucrative and pleasurable pursuits.

"We are well-matched, then," he remarked, with a nip to her lips. "The pagan and the soulless knight."

"That sounds like something a minstrel would sing about."

He chuckled. "Vaisey was always summoning minstrels to entertain him, so perhaps that's where I heard it." He moved closer to her, standing at the edge of the bed, and rested his hands on her waist, awaiting her response. It came in the form of her body against his and her arms around his neck. "If the minstrels displeased him, he tossed them in the dungeon. I think he enjoyed _that_ more than their music."

"And what do _you_ enjoy, Sir Guy?"

"This," he replied and kissed her a third time.

Her lips parted, the touch of his tongue to hers sending the first of many tendrils of heat to his groin. Guy had lain with many women, but with Ajsa, he was gentler and less dominating. Their interactions had thus far been give-and-take, and their carnal relations should therefore be no different.

Hands began to wander. They roamed over hard planes of muscle and soft mounds of flesh, dipped beneath black tunics and the skirts of rust-colored kirtles. The ties on the front of her dress were swiftly undone, while his shirt was discarded in rapid succession.

He pulled away to look at her. In the firelight, her exposed skin took on a warm, orange hue, and the dancing flames cast intriguing shadows on her torso. Ajsa watched as he trailed a finger along her collarbones, between her breasts, and down her abdomen, then her eyes closed when he retraced the path with his mouth. Lips scattered kisses. Teeth dragged across flesh. Tongue laved and soothed.

Cupping her breasts, Gisborne turned his attentions to her neck, nipping carefully so as not to leave evidence of their activities in such a visible location. But as he kissed lower, he grew less cautious. He sucked a mark onto the underside of her left breast, while his fingers toyed with the right. His tongue swirled around her nipple, then he suckled it, pulling a sharp gasp from her lips that went straight to his stiffening cock. After giving the right breast the same attention, he slid the kirtle from her shoulders to reveal more of her body.

Ajsa had gained back the weight that she'd lost during her captivity, resulting in a slim but shapely figure. There was no denying that she was small--delicate even--, but she was every bit a woman as the voluptuous whores he had bedded. He watched, mesmerized, as his hands slid down her sides, dipping into her waist and gliding over the swell of her hips.

A tug on his lower body alerted him to the fact that she was unlacing his breeches and pushing them down to his mid-thigh. Then she started kissing his torso, mimicking his own ministrations on her chest. Guy could not remember the last time a woman had touched his nipples, but he groaned in unexpected pleasure. His abdominal muscles rippled beneath her mouth, and when he felt her exhaled breath on his braes, he began to throb in anticipation. She cupped him, and he cupped her. Their gazes locked, dark eyes reflecting their mutual desire.

Gisborne rubbed Ajsa through her smallclothes and reveled in the hitch in her breath. But it was his turn to gasp when her hand slipped into his braes to grasp his hardness. After that, it was not long until they were both bare and lying on Ajsa's small bed. He hovered over her, his gaze hungrily devouring the woman beneath him. Her legs spread in invitation, and he accepted it.

Parting her folds, Guy was gratified to feel her slickness between his fingers. He kissed her and simultaneously stroked her from top to bottom, easing her into the sensation, before slipping one finger inside her. A shudder ran through him as he imagined how she would feel around his shaft.

A second finger soon followed the first, and Gisborne quickly found the special patch of flesh on the roof of her channel that had her breaking their kiss in surprise. He smirked, massaging that spot, while his thumb began to circle her pearl. Ajsa stroked him as well as their height difference would allow, but it was enough to have him leaking. As her thumb grazed the ridge under the head, he could not help thrusting into her hand.

It had been years since he'd engaged in this much preparation. His work and ambitions had relegated sex to merely an avenue for release, to a deviation from the routine when he craved something other than his own touch. With Ajsa, however, he remembered the satisfaction of being the cause of another's pleasure.

Guy watched her eyes flutter closed and her mouth open on a moan. She was close now; he could tell from her panted breaths and the way her walls twitched around his fingers. A final sweep of his thumb sent her toppling over the edge. She bucked her hips and bit her lip to keep from crying out. Gisborne silently cursed Isabella's presence for denying him the sounds of Ajsa's climax. But he groaned regardless, because she had squeezed his cock in response.

Once her tremors had ceased, he draped himself over Ajsa and allowed her to guide him to her entrance. The head breached her easily, and he moaned as he slid inside her tight, warm sheath. True to her word, he encountered no barrier that would signify her maidenhood. Guy wondered about that, but when she pulled his head down to kiss him, the only thoughts that remained were of the woman lying beneath him.

He began to move, slowly at first, with long, thorough thrusts that Ajsa felt deep in her core. Tongues mimicked the motions, swirling and tasting. A hand supported himself, while the other attended first to one breast, then to the other, cupping, squeezing, and circling. As she wrapped her legs around his hips, her heels pressed into his buttocks, urging him to pick up the pace. He obliged her.

Placing both hands onto the mattress, Gisborne pounded into her, her breathy moans spurring him on and making him leak even more. Ajsa was not like those inexperienced maidens who merely lay there, nor was she like the prostitutes he bedded. She used her arms around his neck as leverage, to meet each thrust with a buck of her hips, while her pants and gasps and moans were genuine, not feigned to tempt more coin.

Yet their coupling was about more than just carnal pleasure. When he gazed down at her, Guy saw the stern, protective facade gradually fade away. He saw fleeting flashes of affection, affection for _him_ , not for another. But most of all, he saw someone he could love for more than a night.

It was that thought, in combination with the sudden spasms around his cock, which had him grunting and swelling and throbbing. Gisborne spilled inside her, just as Ajsa arched up into him, her shout muffled in his shoulder.

He held her against him, her chest heaving nearly in tandem with his, as they caught their breaths. Gisborne grinned into her hair. It had been many, many years since he'd experienced so satisfying a release.

And then, with a sinking feeling, he realized his mistake. He cursed.

"I didn't pull out."

Ajsa looked up at him with a serious, almost irritated expression.

"You _do_ remember what I am, do you not?" she asked rhetorically.

"I do," he said, uncertain as to her meaning. "Are you saying that you will...terminate it?"

She arched an amused brow. "Conception, should it occur, is not immediate, Sir Guy. There are safe methods of inducing abortion, yes, but there are even _safer_ methods of preventing conception."

He was relieved. Although Gisborne wanted children someday, the last thing he or Ajsa needed now was a babe.

"How?"

"By charting my monthly cycle," she replied. "And with wild carrot seeds, to be doubly secure. I shall search for some on the morrow when Isabella leaves the manor."

"You sound like you've had previous experience with this," he remarked, out of curiosity more than anything. She had, after all, admitted that she was not a virgin.

"I may have," Ajsa hedged. "In Orosháza, women would come to me asking for ways to prevent and terminate unwanted babes. I have much experience with _that_." She paused, shifting beneath him. He had softened during their conversation, and he slipped out when she moved. "We had to be very careful, though. Discretion was crucial, or else we could be accused of witchcraft."

"Why take such perilous measures, then? Isn't procreation a woman's chiefest wish?"

Ajsa snorted derisively. "Christianity would have you believe such nonsense, that a wife should be a vessel of conception for her husband," she retorted. "But I can assure you that most women would disagree. Although procreation _is_ important to us, so, too, is sexual pleasure. Men are free to lay with as many women as they please, siring bastards where ever their cock goes." Gisborne gave her a warning glare, but she ignored it. "Meanwhile, women are forbidden to enjoy sex, within marriage or without it, all because of a story that was created by a man in order to exert control over women."

The fervor with which she expressed her ideas was dangerous, as were the ideas themselves. If heard by the wrong ears, they could have terrible consequences. But for all her defiance, Ajsa was prudent. Guy knew firsthand how difficult it was to gain her trust, and he was reassured that she safeguarded her opinions from those who would persecute her.

"For someone who despises Christianity, you're certainly knowledgeable about it," he remarked dryly.

She shrugged. "I learned, like every other girl, the teachings of the Bible."

"And what made you turn so violently against them?"

"I did not turn against all of its teachings," she confessed, to his surprise, "merely against the ones that claim males are superior to females and the ones that attempt to belittle and control females. The tales of Jesus are actually quite nice. He lived what he preached, which is more than can be said for most of the religious men I have met."

Guy could find no fault with her answer. He enjoyed being the dominant one--in all circumstances--, but if Marian had taught him anything, it was that some women would not be dominated, no matter how much a man tried. Marian had been one such woman, and Ajsa was another.

"I would be a hypocrite to condemn you for your opinions," he admitted. Growing tired of holding himself above her, Gisborne maneuvered them so that she was resting atop him. The bed was too narrow for them to lie side-by-side. "I wouldn't tolerate being inferior to women, nor would any other man I know. Therefore, equality seems...fairest."

Ajsa smiled, but faintly. "Take care, Sir Guy. If one of your sex were to hear you speak thusly, you would be laughed out of Nottingham."

"That would be no loss, since I am already viewed as a failure," he said acerbically.

"Not by me," she insisted. "I am very glad you have not killed Robin Hood _or_ your sister."

Sighing, he said, "Then I suppose I should be glad, too, for if given the choice between your favor and Prince John's, I would rather have yours."

Ajsa averted her gaze, hiding her face in the crook of his neck. But he felt her mouth widen in a smile. A feeling of warm satisfaction rushed through him at the knowledge that he had been the cause of her smile.

"Let us sleep now," he suggested. "We have an important day ahead of us tomorrow."

She kissed the slope of his shoulder and shifted until she found a comfortable position on top of him.

"Good night, Sir Guy."

"Good night, Ajsa," he whispered.

She dozed off soon after, but Gisborne lay awake for a while, staring up at the crisscrossing beams until the fire dwindled to embers. His mind was a mess of thoughts, thoughts of Isabella, of Hood, of the prince, and of Ajsa. With his sister's help, there was yet an opportunity to reclaim his position, and with Ajsa by his side, he may yet reclaim his humanity.

For the moment, at least, life was looking up for Guy of Gisborne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wild carrot is also known as Queen Anne's lace. It really was used as a safe contraceptive herb by medieval women, and it really does seem to have to contraceptive/abortive properties. Think of it as a medieval Plan B.


	18. Caught Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guy tolerates a lot from Ajsa, who gives him some "tough love" in this chapter.

Sunshine filtered in through the wooden shutters, casting thin rays of light onto the occupants of the room. One of Gisborne's legs was hanging off the cot, while Ajsa slumbered peacefully, her back pressed against the wall and her face tucked into his neck. That was the state Mary found them in, when she entered the room looking for Ajsa.

Stopping short at the doorway, she exclaimed, "Oh!"

Ajsa opened her eyes, her vision still unfocused, and peered at the figure by the foot of the bed. She sat up quickly, clutching the blanket to her bare chest. In her haste to cover herself, she had exposed Guy's naked torso, which held Mary's attention for just a second.

With an awkward cough, she stammered, "I-I was just comin' to prepare the mistress's breakfast." She glanced anxiously at Gisborne, who was also waking.

"Well, come back later," he grumbled.

"That is not necessary, Mary," said Ajsa, ignoring Guy's admonishing glance. "I can make the mistress her breakfast this morning."

"If you're sure...," said Mary uncertainly, her gaze flicking between Guy and Ajsa.

Ajsa smiled reassuringly. "I am sure."

The woman needed no further persuading. Untying her apron, she hung it onto a hook and retreated.

Guy pulled Ajsa back down so that they were nose-to-nose. He kissed her, savoring the sensation. The bed had been too small and too hard, but the discomfort had been worth it to wake up with Ajsa in his arms.

"Ah, I see," he remarked dryly, with a nip to her bottom lip, "you sleep with the master once, and you think you have the authority to order the other servants about."

"You did not object," she pointed out.

"True," he conceded, "though I _did_ show my displeasure, which was apparently in vain." He kissed her again, and this time, his tongue sought entrance, too. "You know, I wanted Mary gone, as well, because then I'm able to touch you for longer. But that doesn't mean she should be relieved of her duties." Despite the reprimand, his voice was husky from lust.

"Indeed, but mind where you touch, Sir Guy. It would not do for another person to stumble upon us in a comprising state." Ajsa lay on her side, one arm hugging her waist, and watched him with a sleepy gaze. "Mary appeared to be quite surprised," she commented. "More surprised than I would have expected."

Gisborne arched a brow. "Why do you say that? Do you believe she sees me in bed with a different woman every night?"

"Does she not?"

"No, she doesn't," he replied tersely. "You're the first woman in many, many months." Her presumption stung, but considering his reputation, he could not blame her for it. "I think she was more surprised to find me in bed with _you_. We didn't exactly get off to a good start."

"And which slave and master do?" she inquired flatly. "She may assume that you coerced me."

"She may," he agreed, looking troubled.

"Or she may not," said Ajsa. She brushed her fingers over his furrowed brows to smooth out the wrinkles from his frown. "The very fact that you did not do so in the beginning speaks to your character. Many of my friends in Orosháza were maidservants, and some of the men they worked for took them to bed, whether they desired it or not. I was fortunate to be spared from that." She paused, hesitating. "But when I arrived here, when you-"

"I know, Ajsa," he said gently. "When I ordered Mary to prepare a bath, you thought I had more in mind than mere hygiene." She nodded and averted her gaze. "I don't condone rape. It shows weakness and cowardice, rather than strength."

She looked at him with mild surprise. "Then why do you not have such views on violence in general?"

"Because violence is sometimes necessary, while rape is not," he answered.

"Was it necessary to torment the people of this village?"

"You know why I did that, Ajsa," he said impatiently. "At the time, yes, I thought it was necessary."

Ajsa studied his face for signs of anger, but saw none. She ventured, "And now?"

"Now?" He sighed heavily and shifted so that she was draped across his chest. "Now I don't know. You expect me to be a good man, and for reasons I can't fathom, you seem to believe I _can_ be a good man. But I fear you'll be disappointed in the end, as Marian was."

"I do not expect anything from you," she said. Hurt, or an emotion like it, must have flashed across his face, because she pressed a kiss to his chest. "I have long ago learned that expectations always breed disillusionment. Even in the best of circumstances, nothing and no one are ever as wonderful in reality as they are in our minds."

Guy was taken aback by her answer and was struck once again by how different Marian and Ajsa were. Marian had been hopeful--an optimist and an idealist--, while Ajsa was a realist. What had happened to the Hungarian woman to make her think that way?

As if reading his thoughts, she said, "I, like you, have experienced my share of hardships."

He wanted to ask what those hardships had been, but he'd learned enough about Ajsa to know that she did not readily reveal her secrets. In one respect, he liked that air of mystery surrounding her. But in the other respect, he _yearned_ to understand her and for her to understand him.

"I'm sorry for that," he lamented. And he was, truly.

She kissed his chest again in thanks, then climbed over him to collect her clothes. The sunlight was brighter and stronger now, presenting Gisborne with a tantalizing view of her bare figure, before she stepped into her dress. Ajsa flashed him a half-amused, half-reproachful glance and went into the kitchen. After pulling on his own clothes, he followed her.

"Let Mary take over your work this morning," he suggested.

Ajsa arched an eyebrow as she sliced the bread she had baked last night. "Am I exempt from chores now that you have bedded me?"

"No," he replied, tying the laces of his breeches. "I just thought you might want to collect your herbs instead." Guy smirked at her. "Besides, I believe _you_ were the one who bedded _me_."

"Yes, I suppose that is true," she said, with a self-satisfied grin. Isabella's voice floated down from the second floor. Ajsa inclined her head in its direction. "You should go and greet your sister."

"I should," Gisborne agreed sulkily, "but I would much rather remain here with you and watch you cut that cheese into cubes."

Ajsa snorted, but there was a small, pleased smile on her face nonetheless.

"Go, Sir Guy. Make peace with her."

He went, reluctantly, and waited for Isabella to come downstairs. By the time she did, he was on his second goblet of mead and regretting heeding Ajsa's advice.

"How did you sleep?" asked his sister.

"With one eye open," he answered, though it had actually been with one leg hanging off the bed. But Isabella did not have to know that.

"If we are going to work together, we must learn to lower our guard," she said. He snorted derisively, then winced as the cut on his hand smarted. Isabella noticed. "That looks painful."

Gisborne averted his gaze, unwilling to acknowledge the genuine concern he heard in his sister's voice.

"It's a scratch. I'll be fine."

"Here," offered Isabella, holding out her palm.

Gisborne stared at it, then placed his hand in hers.

"So, how am I to get back into the new king's favor?"

"I've decided to speak to him for you," said Isabella. He looked at her sharply, surprised. "On one condition." She began to clean his wound, gently dabbing at it with a damp cloth. "I need you to apologize."

Ajsa walked into the room and set down a plate of bread and cheese for Isabella. For an instant, her gaze lingered on the small box of vials on the table, before she dipped into a curtsey and headed towards the kitchens. She paused at the doorway.

"Apologize," he repeated. "What for?"

"You know what for."

"Isabella, had I not arranged your marriage, we would still be living in some godforsaken corner of France, without a penny or an acre to our name," he explained impatiently.

"Better that than to have been with him."

"No," he snapped. "It is not my fault that you failed to make the best of your chance." Gisborne did not see Isabella uncork a small, clay bottle, but Ajsa did. She also recognized the faint but pungent aroma that emitted from it. "In fact," continued Guy, heedless of his error or cruelty, "it's down to me that we're still in with a chance of anything, so instead of wasting time, I say we work out exactly what it is you're going to say to the prince."

Isabella poured the contents of the bottle onto Guy's hand and massaged it into his cut.

"I was thinking maybe I should just drug you and hand you in to him myself."

"What?"

"I was willing to forgive you, Brother," spat Isabella, "but you don't deserve my absolution."

Guy suddenly felt weak and tired. He peered into his cup, thinking for one, terrible instant that Ajsa had been working against him with Isabella. But Isabella dispelled that fear and replaced it with another.

"Oh, no, it's not your drink," she said, gloating. He stared up at her, confused, his vision growing hazy. "It's your wound." And then he keeled over onto the tabletop, unconscious.

Ajsa, having seen enough, slipped out the back door and headed for the forest.

#

It was hours later when Guy finally came to, gagged and tied to his bed. Taking a moment to gather his wits, he reflected on the fact that this was the second time in a less than a week that he had found himself bound by Isabella.

"Did you have a pleasant sleep?"

He turned his head and saw Ajsa leaning against the doorframe, her eyes glinting with amusement. Gisborne struggled against his bonds, to no avail, while Ajsa watched his attempts to free himself. He shouted a muffled curse.

"Would you like me to help you?" she inquired.

He glared at her. She was taking far too much enjoyment from his predicament, but he was not so proud as to deny her aid. He nodded, and she untied the ropes with only the barest hint of a smirk.

Once she had removed the cloth from his mouth, he said, somewhat accusingly, "You're a healer. Didn't you realize that Isabella was going to drug me?"

"Of course I did," she affirmed, "but you were despicable to her and to females in general." He tried to protest, but she cut him off with a stony expression. "I have known cruel brutes like Isabella's husband, who force themselves upon their wives or upon whatever poor woman is unlucky enough to catch their fancy. She was thirteen, Sir Guy. You did wrong by her."

Gisborne did not usually tolerate being reprimanded, but in the face of Ajsa's indignation, he was silent. He considered how he would feel if it had been Ajsa instead who'd been subjected to Thornton's abuse, and the answer startled him. Someone would have to restrain him from killing the man.

"You're right," he admitted reluctantly. "I did wrong by her, but I had little choice. We were destitute and living on the streets, begging for food and money. Thornton offered a fair price for her. I didn't know then what sort of man he was. I thought I was giving us both a better life."

To his credit, he did sound regretful. Ajsa softened.

"Why do you not tell Isabella this?"

He sighed. "Because at this point, she would neither listen to me nor believe me. I fear I am now truly irredeemable in her eyes."

She nodded, agreeing, yet she also sympathized with Guy. It was a hard decision he'd had to make, and he, too, had been inexperienced.

"I do not condemn you for what you did," she said, "only for the way you dealt with the consequences of it. You mishandled them, Sir Guy."

"Yes, you've made that abundantly clear," he said, bristling at her continued reproval. If it had been anyone else scolding him, there would have been a blade at his throat by now. "What did she use to knock me out anyway? My head feels like it's stuffed with wool."

"Valerian root," Ajsa replied. "Isabella used enough to put a horse to sleep. That is why you feel as you do. Eat something but do not drink wine, and you shall begin to improve."

He followed her downstairs into the kitchen, fetching himself a goblet of water and a plate of bread and cheese. As he ate, Ajsa stirred a small pot of a fragrant concoction. Ladling it into a cup, she sipped it slowly.

"Do you think I'm irredeemable?" he asked her.

"If I did, I would have left you tied to the bed."

"Thank you," he said gratefully. A sweet, vegetal scent wafted towards him, and he nodded at her cup. "Is that the...remedy?"

She smiled, amused by his choice of word.

"This is the wild carrot seed, yes," she replied. "But it is quite bitter, so I have added some honey to it."

"Can you brew me up something for this headache?"

"I already have," she said, handing him a goblet of liquid. He sniffed it, then took a cautious sip. To his surprise, it tasted like sweet, floral leaves. "It is feverfew and butterbur, with a touch of honey to make it palatable." Ajsa paused to take another drink of her infusion. "Valerian is an interesting plant," she mused aloud. "In small doses, it can alleviate headaches. But in large doses, such as the one Isabella gave you, it causes headaches and can even lead to death."

Guy drained his cup and set it down, fixing Ajsa with a hard look.

"Yet you stood idly by while my sister poisoned me."

"You deserved it," she said, shrugging. "I also knew that the amount she gave you would not kill you."

"You push your luck, Ajsa," Gisborne warned her. As she walked by to take his plate and goblet, he pulled her into his lap. "Any other person to take such liberties with me would have met with unpleasant consequences."

"Yes, but as I recall, you were in no position to dole out punishments," she remarked lightly.

"Quiet, woman," he growled and nipped her earlobe. He glanced outside, at the position of the sun, and cursed. "I have a coronation to attend. Afterwards, I will return for you."

Ajsa stood, placing her hands on her hips and gazing at him with a determined fire in her eyes. He knew that expression well.

"You are _not_ coming," he said.

"And how will you prevent me?" she inquired. "Will you invoke your authority as Master and command me to stay?"

"That's exactly what I'll do," he replied. Her gaze turned icy, and, for an instant, Guy glimpsed something almost sinister in her features. It made him wonder exactly what she had done in the past to perfect such a reaction. His attention shifted to the infusion simmering over the fire, and he reconsidered his previous decision. "Fine, you can come," he groused. "But while I'm inside the abbey, you will wait _out_ side with the horses."

Ajsa nodded, satisfied with the arrangement, and the darkness lifted from her face.

"That is acceptable."

Guy opened the door for her to walk through and sighed. For all her healing abilities, he reckoned that she would in fact be the death of him.

#

Bedecked in mail and armor, Gisborne stood at the entrance to Kirklee's Abbey, his face hidden behind the helmet of a guard now lying unconscious in the bushes. He glanced behind him, at the small copse of trees in which Ajsa was hidden with the horses. They'd agreed that once everyone had gone inside, she should emerge. There would not be much time to escape, for killing a prince was a serious crime, so she needed to be ready the moment he ran through those doors.

Swallowing down his anxiety, Guy refocused his attention on the approaching party. Prince John was gleefully advancing through the cheering crowd, followed by a smug Sheridan and a dour-looking Isabella. From the clench of her jaw, Guy supposed the fickle prince had given her to Sheridan as a reward. Although he felt a spark of pity for his sister, she was foolish to have believed that Prince John would be loyal to her.

The assembly moved inside the abbey, and Gisborne moved with it. With what appeared to be great reluctance, the archbishop began the coronation ceremony, reciting the age-old verses and anointing the prince with consecrated oil. Prince John, on the other hand, smiled serenely throughout the initiation rites. Guy's hands twitched upon the crossbow, eager to transform the man's idiotic expression into one of pain and shock.

When the archbishop held the crown above the prince's head, the abbey's doors burst open and a figure, hidden behind gleaming shields, proclaimed, "Hold! I am King Richard, king of the English, duke of the Normans and Aquitanian."

"You should be in the Holy Land," accused Sheridan, aghast.

"The wax work lives," came the voice of the king.

The archbishop turned to Sheridan. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded.

Sheridan fell onto his knees in front of the archbishop and confessed to him the entire plan. A wax model of King Richard had been commissioned by the prince, he said, to fool the archbishop into believing him dead.

Desperate, the prince snatched the crown from the archbishop. But before he could place it onto his head, an arrow knocked it out of his hands.

"Hood!" cried John. "You impersonate the king?"

Indeed, Robin Hood came forward, another arrow pointed at the treasonous prince. His ruse was up, the plot revealed for all to hear, and the archbishop refused to make him king.

Glancing frantically around, Prince John searched for the crown.

"Is this what you're looking for?" asked Guy, holding aloft the golden object. "How about a state funeral?" He aimed the crossbow at John.

Hood intervened. "Gisborne, don't do it. I know he deserves it, but with no leader at home, England could be ripped apart," he explained. "It could be torn up by war."

"And what has England ever done for me?" snapped Guy.

"Brother," pleaded Isabella.

He glared at her. "Don't think I won't shoot you, as well, after everything you've done."

She stepped in front of Prince John, blocking his body with hers, and challenged her brother. Ajsa, who had crept inside the doorway, observed Isabella's misguided bravery with nervous anticipation.

Guy's gaze flicked between her and the prince, the latter of whom was attempting to sneak away. He let the bolt loose. Instead of hitting John, however, it embedded itself into Isabella's arm as she ran to protect the prince. And then Gisborne was falling forward, with one of Robin's arrows in his shoulder. He crawled towards Ajsa, but the guards intercepted him before he could reach her. Spooked by the chaotic events, the horses wrenched away from Ajsa's hold and galloped into the forest.

"Get your hands off me," he commanded. He kicked at the nearest soldier, but another took his place and restrained him. Guy nevertheless continued to struggle against his captors, especially when Ajsa's arms were pulled roughly behind her back. "Let her go, you bastards," he shouted. "She was only following my orders."

The guards ignored him, but Isabella did not.

"Release the girl," she said, flashing Ajsa a reassuring, if slightly pained, smile. The bolt had been removed from her arm, which hung in a makeshift sling. "She is my brother's servant and therefore had no choice but to follow his orders."

When the soldiers complied, Ajsa joined Isabella. "Thank you for speaking in my favor," she said, and the black-haired woman nodded. As they walked side-by-side, Ajsa remarked, "He did not intend to shoot you."

"I know," said Isabella, sighing. "But, loath as I am to admit it, Hood is right. With King Richard in the Holy Land, England needs a leader, even if only in name. My brother was about to jeopardize that, so he needed to be stopped." She grinned, looking nearly as smug as Prince John had before his presumed victory. "Besides, the prince has just made me Sheriff of Nottingham for saving his life."

Ajsa raised her eyebrows skeptically. "And you really believe that he will not renege on his word?"

"Of course he won't," assured Isabella. "Sheridan has betrayed him, so there's no one else."

Although Ajsa still empathized with Isabella, she no longer liked her. She understood her ill will towards Guy and Hood, but to throw her lot in with Prince John, who was as selfish and uncaring as they came, made it impossible for Ajsa to view Isabella in a positive light. Granted, her brother was no innocent either, yet he was slowly changing for the better.

"Then I hope for your sake that this time is the exception to the rule," she murmured.

The two women mounted their horses, urging them into a walk. Ajsa glanced back at Gisborne, whose wrists were currently being shackled. He caught her gaze and held it, his features softening, like they usually did when he looked at her. Their fate, it seemed, was to constantly be separated, and Guy was growing weary of it. From the concern he saw in Ajsa's eyes, it appeared that she shared his sentiments. He offered her a wan smile, then turned to glare at Isabella's back as his guards yanked him forward.


	19. Ménage à Trois

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ajsa meets Meg, who then meets Gisborne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is meant in the literal French translation--"a household of three"--, not in the sexual, threesome way.

The woman strode determinedly through the castle, a plate of bread and cheese in one hand and a cup of water in the other. Her skirt swished around her ankles as she descended into the dungeons.

"Food for the prisoner."

The guard glanced at the only occupied cell. "Why? 'e looks hale enough t'me," he sneered.

"By order of the Sheriff," said Ajsa firmly. "However, if you prefer, I can go back upstairs and inform her of your observation. Perhaps she would reward you, as she has done her brother."

"Fine, girl," the man sourly acquiesced. "Give me the food an' I'll give it t'im."

"Actually, I would speak with the prisoner alone." The guard opened his mouth to protest, but Ajsa cut him off with a glare. She said darkly, "He is my former master, you see, and I have _much_ to say to him."

The guard grinned, looking into the darkened cell again, and nodded. Ajsa waited until she heard his footsteps on the stairs, then rushed to meet Gisborne. The cup and plate were hastily set aside, and he gripped her hands through the bars.

"You shouldn't be down here, Ajsa," he admonished her. "If Isabella learns the nature of our relationship, she'll probably toss you in here, as well."

"I would be more concerned with your own fate, if I were you," said Ajsa. Guy furrowed his brows at her ominous tone. "Isabella means to execute you."

He paled, the healer's hands slipping from his slackened grasp.

"H-how do you know this?"

"I overheard her practicing her speech this morning. She intends to announce it this afternoon, when she addresses Nottingham," Ajsa replied gently. "I disagree with her choice of ally, but I believe she may yet be a good sheriff."

Gisborne raised an eyebrow. "Do you?"

"Your death would be regrettable, but you must admit it would not be wholly unexpected."

"Only you could say such things to me and emerge unscathed," he muttered. "But you're right. My sins are great, and I deserve the fate Isabella plans for me." He trailed off abruptly, cupping her cheek and bending his knees so that they were approximately the same height. "I know this, yet I am inherently selfish. I don't want to part with you, Ajsa."

She leaned into his touch, just for an instant. "And you shall not. When Isabella's attention is diverted, I will steal her keys and free you."

"No," he said firmly, shaking his head. "She would view your actions as an even greater betrayal than mine, and I won't allow you to be condemned to death on my account." His features darkened, and a haunted look crept into his eyes. "Too many have died because of me already."

"But you forget," said Ajsa, with a confident smile, "that I am now a friend of Robin Hood."

Guy snorted. "Hood and his outlaws won't help me."

"They will if I am with you," she assured him. "I need not even do anything, for Isabella plans to lure Robin Hood to Nottingham to capture him."

Against his better judgment, he smirked. Then he glimpsed Ajsa's reproving stare and sobered, though his satisfaction at having his old foe potentially bested remained.

"Like Vaisey and I haven't tried that," he said, scoffing. "But," Guy conceded, "Isabella _has_ proven tenacious thus far. She may yet succeed."

The sound of trumpets in the courtyard above heralded Ajsa's imminent departure.

"I must go," she lamented. "Isabella expects me at her side when she addresses the people."

Ajsa turned to leave, but Gisborne caught her arm and pulled her back. Tilting up her chin, he kissed her through a gap in the bars. The encounter was brief and chaste, but much needed for them both.

"Be careful," he whispered, holding her gaze. The emotion she saw in his eyes sent her heart racing.

Ajsa swallowed hard and nodded mutely. Guy released her, watching as she hurried up the stairs to join his sister, her blue-gray kirtle billowing out behind her.

#

Meg was an opinionated and spirited young woman, particularly concerning the _merits_ of men. After spurning all four of her suitors, her father had petitioned the Sheriff to force her to obey his will. To his dismay, Isabella had freed her instead and had promised to bring fairness and prosperity back to Nottingham. Her first act had been to help Meg; her second would be to execute her brother, an event that Ajsa could not allow to occur.

However, both Isabella's and Ajsa's plans were threatened by the arrival of Isabella's husband.

"You ran away. You deserted me!" shouted Thornton. He chased Isabella into one of the rooms off the main corridor, followed closely by Ajsa and Meg. The healer had never seen Isabella look so frightened. "I loved you, cared for you. We were so happy together," he said sarcastically.

Despite her fear, Isabella grabbed a knife and brandished it at her husband.

"How can you say that?"

There was a moment of tense stillness, then Thornton wrenched Isabella to him, relieving her of the weapon. Ajsa watched the struggle, while Meg called for the guards, who pried Thornton away from her.

"Take him to the dungeons," ordered Isabella, holding the knife aloft again.

"Do you want Prince John to know he has a criminal for a sheriff?"

"He appointed me. He trusts me," Isabella retorted.

"You abandoned your husband!" Thornton reminded her. "You broke man's law, and God's."

Ajsa scowled. "With a brute such as you for a husband, it is no wonder she would risk the law."

Thornton turned on her. "What did you say?" he snarled.

"Merely the truth," Ajsa replied calmly. Thornton's fists clenched as he struggled to reach her. She knew if the guards were to release him, he would assault her, but she had tolerated enough cruelty from men and could no longer quiet her tongue. "And what a position of power you are currently in," she taunted him. "You are at the mercy of your 'little wife', the Sheriff of Nottingham. I see no reason why she should obey you."

Isabella flashed her a wan, grateful smile. Seeing it, Thornton smirked and addressed his wife once more.

"No reason?" he inquired. "My men will ride to Prince John at nightfall, if they receive no word of my safety." Ajsa paled, as did Isabella, who stared, horrified, at her husband. "Release me, or it's over."

"Let him go," she said weakly.

Ajsa closed her eyes, resigned to the events that would transpire next. But before Thornton could punish either her or his wife, Meg intervened, with the promise of gold and jewels. Thornton considered only for an instant, then nodded.

"If you've told a lie," he warned Meg, "it'll be your last." Glaring at Ajsa, he ordered the guards to lock the two women in the dungeons, while he took Isabella with him to find the treasure.

On her way out, Isabella grasped Ajsa's and Meg's hands. "I won't rest until you're free," she vowed.

"Oh, look at them, boys," said Thornton, with a mocking laugh. "The ladies are getting a little emotional."

He yanked Isabella forward, and the guards led Meg and Ajsa to the prisons. The healer grimaced, mentally chiding herself. If she had only been more sensible, she would still be free and able to rescue both Guy and Meg.

As she was shoved inside the cell, Ajsa met Gisborne's surprised gaze. This was not the reunion she had envisioned for them.

#

Meg paced the cell, accenting each step with an angry stomp. She muttered under her breath, words that were not befitting a lady, but from her display in the town square, Meg was no more a lady than Ajsa was. And that made Ajsa like the young woman even more.

Meg did not appear to have seen Gisborne yet. He was lying silently on the stone shelf that functioned as a bed, and Ajsa wouldn't have noticed him either had she not already known he was there. She peered through the gloom, hoping to catch another glimpse of him. But with Meg's cell in between, she only saw the straw littering the floor.

"Do you have a husband, Ajsa?" asked Meg, pausing in her pacing.

Guy perked up at that. He had asked her the same question but, at the time, had not cared about the answer. His heart and thoughts had been occupied by Marian then. However, he listened intently now.

There was a rustle of fabric and a sigh that he recognized as Ajsa's. His brows creased in concern.

"I did," she finally replied.

"What happened?" Meg asked.

Ajsa's gaze flicked to the bars of Gisborne's cell. "As you may have noticed, I am not native to this land," she said stiffly. "My husband and I were...separated."

His heart plummeted. Ajsa was yet another unattainable woman. A year ago, Guy would have disregarded her marital status and continued his relations with her, but he was no longer that man. Sometime during his interactions with Marian and Ajsa, he had developed a conscience, fledgling though it still was.

Meg tilted her head, watching the healer curiously. "You love him."

"Yes," affirmed Ajsa, taken aback by Meg's deduction. Gisborne's spirits sank even lower, and he reckoned that perhaps his execution would be a mercy, instead of a punishment. "How did you know?"

"When you speak of him, your entire body softens and there's a ghost of a smile upon your lips," replied Meg. "Did your father choose him for you?"

Ajsa's eyes glittered with amusement. "No, I did."

Surprise colored Meg's features. "Your father must've been kind, then, unlike mine." She scoffed and gripped the bars of her cell. "If I had my way, men would disappear in a puff of smoke, and the world would be a happier place."

Gisborne raised his head, the movement finally drawing Meg's attention. "What are you staring at?" she snapped at him. In the dim torchlight, Ajsa could not see him, but she could imagine his expression.

"I know you. You're him, aren't you? Isabella's brother," Meg said, walking closer to his cell. "She's a friend of mine."

"Not that close, obviously," Guy remarked.

"Her nasty husband did this to me," Meg retorted.

"Thornton," murmured Guy, with a deep chuckle. "Is he here?"

"Yes, and she's terrified of him," Meg said softly.

"Well, she shouldn't have run off and left him, then, should she have?"

Meg's tone was acerbic again. "You always were a bit pleased with yourself." Guy turned his head to regard her with a bored expression. "I saw you once, the man in black on his black horse, the big 'I am'. Look at you now," she gloated, "dirty and miserable and _small_. And now you're going to be executed."

"By the look of you, you might not be far behind," said Guy harshly.

Meg was silent for an instant, her tough exterior giving way to fear, before she glared at Gisborne and spat, "I hope you go to Hell."

"I'm already there."

Meg, in her anger, did not hear his response, but Ajsa did, and the resignation in his voice frightened her.

"If the gold really is a lie," she pointed out, "it may be you and I, Meg, not Sir Guy, who are executed."

Nausea bubbled in his stomach, and he swallowed hard against the rising bile. If he knew Ajsa, she had likely tried to protect Isabella from Thornton, an act which had landed her in the dungeons and would probably lead to her death. Guy cursed her loyalty to her sex. Yet, he reflected, that same loyalty had also been extended to him, when she chose to remain in England rather than to return home. And in his selfishness, he'd acquiesced, thus making him ultimately responsible for her imprisonment.

Even Hell was too good a place for him.

"What gold?" he asked, his voice rough from emotion. Guy cared little for riches these days, but the conversation distracted him from more troubling thoughts.

"At Dead Man's Crossing," replied Meg. "Thornton was going to punish Isabella, so I made a deal with him that if he promised not to hurt her, I'd tell him where to find the gold."

A shadow of a smirk played upon Gisborne's lips. "Oh, that gold is very real," he quipped. "Vaisey hid some of his money there, then concocted a tale about the cache being haunted. Thornton will be rich."

"And he'll no doubt free you, good friend of his that you are," said Meg, her lip curling in distaste.

"Perhaps," agreed Guy. If Thornton released him, he could secure Ajsa's freedom, as well. But Thornton's continued presence in Nottingham would be disastrous for Isabella, and, for the first time since they were children, he felt a glimmer of brotherly affection towards her. He'd condemned her to misery once; he would not do so again.

"Robin Hood was in the crowd this afternoon," remarked Ajsa. "He witnessed Thornton usurping Isabella, and I am certain he would not allow another cruel, corrupt man to lord over Nottingham. Isabella may return victorious."

Gisborne snorted, but despite his irritation at the mention of Hood, she spoke the truth. That bloody outlaw was ever the people's champion, even if it meant restoring power to a woman who wanted him dead.

"Do you really think so?" asked Meg, brightening.

"It would be in Hood's nature," affirmed Guy. "In which case, you shall be free and I shall be awaiting death."

"Yes, well, you've done some terrible things," Meg reminded him, though she sounded less pitiless than before.

"Aye," whispered Guy, "that I have."

Staring at her shackled wrists, memories of bloody rope and chafed skin flashed through Ajsa's mind. She could not bear it any longer. She stood, pacing, wracking her brain for a plan. Ever since her arrival in England, she had been dependent upon others for survival. Her helplessness had become tiresome. Logically, Ajsa knew there was no escaping the dungeons, not without assistance, at least, but merely thinking of scenarios made her feel more in control.

It seemed that Meg, too, had grown weary of the shackles, for she rattled them in frustration.

"Just leave them, will you?" snapped Gisborne.

"They hurt."

"That's why they do it," he said sourly. "Deal with it."

"Am I meant to deal with it, as well?" Ajsa retorted.

He softened, remembering the state in which he had found her.

"There's nothing I can do," he said weakly.

Ajsa didn't respond, and Guy felt even more like a failure. He had promised her that he would protect her, yet he couldn't even protect her from himself.

"I'm thirsty," declared Meg.

"Then save your breath and stop whining."

"You're a nasty piece of work, aren't you? No wonder Isabella wants you dead." After half a beat, she asked, "What did you do to her anyway?"

"Give me strength," he murmured. He tipped his head back against the bars and closed his eyes in exasperation. "It's almost worth dying to be spared your endless chatter."

Meg shrugged. "What else are we going to do?"

Guy considered her words, then sighed, relenting.

"I found her a husband, that's what I did." He scowled and glanced at the corner of his cell, where a rat was scurrying into a crack in the wall. "Good price, too."

"You sold her?" Meg exclaimed, outraged. "Your own sister?"

"It was her best chance in life," he replied. "It's not my fault she went and made a mess of it."

"Well, of course it is, all of it. You sold her to a monster."

Gisborne turned on her. "You stupid girl," he hissed. "You know nothing about it."

"I'm not stupid girl," she fired back. "I'm Meg. And I'm still thirsty."

"That stone around your neck." He nodded towards the pendant she wore. "Suck it. It'll make your mouth water."

Meg obeyed and observed him with a contemplative expression. Guy glowered at her scrutiny, wishing it were Ajsa in the neighboring cell instead. He felt disconcerted that she was so quiet, but he could not even see her to assess her well-being.

"Are you thirsty, as well, Ajsa?" he asked, in a much softer tone than he had used with Meg.

Ajsa stopped pacing, her companions' conversation distracting her from fantastical plans of escape. She stood by the door and glared uselessly at the prison guard.

"Yes," she replied, "but I do not have a stone to suck."

Guy banged his chain against the bars to get the guard's attention.

"Could you give the two women some water?"

"I could," the man said, with a smirk, "but then there'd be less wa'er for myself." He rummaged through his pockets and withdrew three pieces of old, crusty bread. "You can 'ave these, though." He tossed a chunk of bread into each of their cells, laughing, and crept back into the shadows.

Ajsa picked up her piece, glanced at it, then set it back down.

"How magnanimous of you," she muttered. Guy smiled, relieved that she still possessed her impertinence.

"Are you scared, Ajsa?" came Meg's question suddenly. "That Isabella won't be able to free us?"

"A little," she confessed. "But I have faith in her."

Guy turned his head in the direction of her voice, surprised.

"You do?"

She nodded, though only Meg could see the motion.

"I have faith that she despises her husband and will not rest until she is rid of him."

"Then I'm only a little afraid, too," said Meg, grinning. "And you, Sir Guy? Are you scared?"

"What of?"

Meg scoffed. "What of? Of your date with the executioner."

He averted his gaze to the floor. "Do I look scared?"

"Actually, no," said Meg. "Terrible, yes, but not frightened. It's as if you've got a clear conscience."

"Well, why shouldn't I have?" He shifted uncomfortably, unable to look at Meg.

"Because of all the awful things you've done in your life," she answered, with something resembling pity. "I mean, no one _actually_ seems sorry that you're on the way out, do they? Does that not make you sad?"

"I can't help what people think of me," said Gisborne quietly, in a resigned tone that Ajsa was beginning to hate. "What's done is done. If I am to die, then so be it."

"You are mistaken," the healer said. " _I_ am sorry he is to be executed. I have been treated ill by many men, but Sir Guy is not one of them."

His heart swelled at her words. While it was true that he did not care what the public thought of him, Ajsa's good opinion meant more to him than wealth and position ever could. A glimmer of hope danced before him that he may yet have the future he'd envisioned with her.

"Isabella says that you were his servant," remarked Meg.

"His slave," Ajsa corrected, to the other woman's shock. "He found me dirty and surly in the slave market and did indeed spare me a harsher master. I cannot excuse his crimes towards the people, nor his stupidity in aligning himself with Vaisey, but I _can_ attest that he regrets them."

Meg stared at her, a calculating glint in her eyes. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you care for him."

Gisborne listened to the exchange, curious about Ajsa's reaction. But she remained calm and collected.

"Perhaps I do," she said simply. "But that is between Sir Guy and me."

Meg observed Ajsa for another instant, then picked up the bread the guard had tossed her. But when she discovered little, white creatures wriggling in it, she gasped and threw it away in disgust.

"Maggots," she explained, crossing her arms petulantly. "I'm starving."

Guy brushed off the dirt and larvae from his piece of bread and offered it to Meg. Taken aback by the kind gesture, she watched him with thinly veiled interest before accepting it.

"There must be some good in you yet."

"You don't know me," he said, shaking his head. "Besides, I thought you hated men."

"I do," she insisted between bites. "I do."

In her dark corner, Ajsa leaned her head against the bars, smiling fondly at the exchange. A plot had been brewing in her mind, and now that Meg seemed to feel more sympathetic towards Guy, the two of them could work together to free him. That was only possible, of course, if Isabella were sheriff. But she was confident that Robin and Isabella would stop Thornton.

"Aren't you hungry, Ajsa?" asked Meg.

"After glimpsing that bread, not particularly, no," the healer replied. "Though I suppose I have eaten worse."

Meg's face fell. "As a slave, you mean."

"Yes. The journey to England was...," she trailed off, searching for the word, "trying."

"You were so thin when I found you," said Gisborne. "I crouched down to see you better, and the way you glared at me behind that veil of brown hair was like a small, wild cat about to pounce on its prey."

Despite the painful memories, Ajsa laughed. "I had pounced on Thomas."

"I know it," he affirmed, with a smirk.

She raised her eyebrows. "How?"

"He was unduly wary of you," explained Guy, "considering your emaciated state."

"True, I attacked him towards the beginning of my capture, when he attempted to force himself on me." Gisborne's hands balled into fists, his knuckles turning white from fury. Ajsa saw the younger woman's concerned expression and gave her a half-smile. "Fear not, he did not succeed."

"What'd you do to him?" Meg eagerly asked.

"I broke his nose with the base of my palm," Ajsa answered, "like my husband had taught me."

Meg giggled, which Ajsa indulged with a grin. "I think I understand why you loved your husband," she said. "If I found a man who would teach me to defend myself, I'd love him, too."

"He would need to be stout indeed to be worthy of you," teased Ajsa. "But you hate men, of course, so even should you encounter such a man, he would be gravely disappointed."

Meg blushed in pleasure. "Of course," she echoed.

Gisborne was mulling over what to say, when the door to the dungeons flew open and a flustered but unscathed Isabella rushed in.

"Release them," she ordered.

"Isabella, thank goodness you're back," Meg exclaimed happily.

"I'm not sure my brother would feel the same," Isabella said.

Ajsa shared a furtive glance with Guy, while the guard unlocked and removed her shackles.

"I would disagree," she said, giving him a pointed look. He ignored it. The two women were free, which was all that mattered. He refused to beg for mercy he did not deserve.

"Ajsa, you're no longer his servant," scolded Isabella. "You don't have to feign loyalty to him anymore." She stroked the healer's cheek and smiled. "We don't need men. _We_ will protect each other now." Taking both women's hands, Isabella pulled them forward. "Come on, let's go."

Meg hesitated. "Won't you release Guy, too?"

"What, are you mad? He's our enemy," Isabella retorted. "Do you see now? Do you see how they manipulate us?" She squeezed Meg's hand, her gaze flitting to her brother. "A few hours in a cell with a cold-hearted killer and even you lose your wits. That's the poison of men, Meg. None of them can be trusted." Her tone turned malicious as she said, "My brother will get exactly what he deserves. Now come on."

Meg looked helplessly at Gisborne, before Isabella led her up the stairs. With a parting nod, Ajsa followed, and he caught a glimpse of the determined set to her jaw. She was still intending to free him, then. A mixture of fear and affection churned in his heart. If he had learned one thing in his time with Ajsa, it was that once she decided something, very little could sway her from it.


	20. Sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gisborne, Meg, and Ajsa escape.

Avoiding Isabella while she was planning Guy's execution was not difficult for Meg and Ajsa. She was nearly always surrounded by servants and guards, allowing the two women to set their own scheme into motion. With the pretense of delivering food to the prisoner, Ajsa sent Meg to the dungeons to inform Gisborne of their plot. When it began, he would need to be ready.

In the meantime, Ajsa poured a few drops of Isabella's valerian root extract into the jailor's mead and made her way to the dungeons.

"A little refreshment," she said, handing the goblet to the prison guard. "Courtesy of the Sheriff."

The man took the proffered cup, staring at its contents but not drinking them. He raised a skeptical brow.

"Why's she bein' so gen'rous?"

"Because she is a different kind of Sheriff," Ajsa replied. "She wishes to restore fairness and justice to Nottingham, and being fair to her hirelings is part of that. It would be a grave offense if you were to reject her generosity."

"All righ', don' get yer kir'le in a twist," huffed the guard. "I'll drink it." With a final glance at the mead, he brought the goblet to his lips and took a long swig. "Well, I'll be damned," he exclaimed, "it's the good stuff."

"It most certainly is," she murmured, meeting Guy's gaze for a split-second. She curtseyed to the guard and ascended the steps, but remained within earshot of the dungeons.

The valerian would take effect in about five minutes, a few minutes longer if the jailor had recently eaten. Nevertheless, Ajsa calculated that Gisborne would be out of the castle before Isabella even became aware of their deception. All that needed to be done now was for Meg to steal the prison keys. Ajsa waited impatiently, ducking into a nearby storeroom whenever someone came down the corridor.

Ten minutes later, Meg appeared around the corner, key ring in hand.

"Did you encounter any problems?" Ajsa asked.

"None at all," Meg replied, with a grin. "Isabella was too preoccupied with her letter to the prince to pay much attention to anything else. Is the guard asleep?"

The healer nodded. "I heard him complaining about feeling drowsy, before everything went silent."

She led Meg down the stairs, and, true to her word, the jailor was slumped against the wall, unconscious. To make absolutely sure, however, Ajsa kicked first his foot, and then his knee. He did not stir.

Meg unlocked Gisborne's cell, smiling up at him in triumph.

"You both took a great risk in doing this," he said. "But I am grateful." He briefly stroked Meg's cheek and went to Ajsa, hugging her tightly to him. She returned his embrace with equal fervor.

"Well, this is touching," drawled Isabella.

Ajsa pulled away from Guy, wincing at the loss of contact. She felt exposed beneath Isabella's hard, icy glare. For an agonizing moment, no one dared to move, then suddenly, Gisborne pushed Meg and Ajsa forward. They ran for the stairs, but Isabella grabbed Meg, while the soldiers detained Guy and Ajsa.

"They didn't know what they were doing!" he shouted, in defense of his liberators.

"Yes, they did," Isabella retorted angrily. "How could you?" she accused them, her gaze flicking between Meg and Ajsa. The healer felt a pang of guilt at the genuine hurt in Isabella's voice. "I set you free, and this is how you repay me?"

"We're not the same," argued Meg. "Ajsa and I try to do things out of love. You're doing this out of hate."

"How dare you?" Isabella shrieked. "I suppose I should be grateful, because now I know that the only person I can trust is myself. I'm on my own!" She shoved Meg towards the guards and approached the healer. "And if you two lovebirds want to be together," she said, smiling cruelly at Guy and Ajsa, "that's fine, you shall. You'll _all_ die."

Ajsa felt her knees go weak as she was pushed roughly up the stairs. In her haste to climb them, she tripped on her dress and hit her shins against the stone. She winced, feeling the bone already starting to bruise. Her captor pulled her up, and when she glanced back at Gisborne, he was seething in anger. He tried to break free, but there were two soldiers on him, each with a sword pointed at his neck. In front of her, Meg whimpered. Ajsa nearly echoed it.

The closer to the square they were led, the more terrified she became. Their arrival was heralded by the rolling beat of drums, and when Guy emerged from the castle, the townsfolk made their hatred for him known. Meg's breathing was strained and shaky.

"I'm scared," she whispered.

"When it comes, it'll be very quick," Gisborne informed her. It was of little comfort, but what comfort could possibly mitigate the fear of impending death?

He glanced at Ajsa, his heart aching for her. She had endured so many hardships, had even survived slavery. Yet they had all been for naught, because her future was about to be robbed from her. There were many things he wanted to say to her, many confessions he wanted to entrust in her, but he could not bring himself to utter them in such a public and unforgiving place. So he just watched her, drinking her in with the desperation of a parched man discovering an oasis.

Although Meg noticed Guy's reverent gaze directed at the healer, Ajsa did not. As she scanned the crowd, a pair of bright, blue eyes caught her attention. Her mouth opened on a gasp, and Allan looked equally surprised to see her.

But she was not afforded an opportunity to communicate with him, for their guards were leading them up to the scaffold, where three tree stumps awaited.

"As you all know from bitter experience, Guy of Gisborne is an enemy of the people. He must pay the ultimate penalty. These women," said Isabella, indicating Meg and Ajsa, "tried to help him escape justice. Therefore, they must share his fate. In the future, if _anyone_ challenges my authority, they shall suffer the same punishment." She sat down and observed the three prisoners with a cruel, haughty expression. "Have the condemned any final words?"

"Very well, Isabella, you win," said Gisborne. "Kill me, if you must, but not them. I'll do whatever you want, but don't take their life," he pleaded.

His sister was unmoved. "Proceed with the executions," she commanded.

"They're just innocent girls," cried Guy, as a soldier forced him to kneel.

Meg and Ajsa were similarly manhandled, and their heads were positioned on the chopping block. When the guards swept their hair to the side to reveal the backs of their necks, Ajsa could barely control herself. Tears welled in her eyes, and she felt sick to her stomach. Beside her, Meg was beginning to hyperventilate.

But the executioner's blow never came. Ajsa dared to peer up and glimpsed an arrow protruding from the man's chest, before he tumbled from the scaffold. The ax landed dangerously close to Gisborne's head, yet they were all three of them alive, thanks to Robin Hood.

In the chaos that ensued, Guy wasted no time in freeing himself and his companions. They were almost to safety, when a soldier rushed towards them with a halberd aimed at Gisborne. Ajsa shouted a warning, but Meg was quicker. The healer watched in horror as Meg stepped in front of Guy and the weapon pierced her abdomen.

"Meg, no!" screamed Ajsa. She supported the younger woman as she stumbled back, and then Gisborne hoisted her into his arms. Pressing a hand to her wound, Ajsa said, "We need to take her somewhere quiet so that I can tend to her. But be careful, you must not jostle her."

During their escape from the castle, Ajsa kept a close eye on Meg. The pressure on her abdomen slowed the blood loss, but she was growing paler and weaker by the second. Ajsa feared an organ had ruptured, perhaps her liver or small intestine. And if that was the case, there was no hope for Meg.

They took refuge in the forest, next to a small pond. Guy rested Meg against a tree, while Ajsa tore the girl's dress to expose the wound. It was deep, much too deep for Ajsa to stitch, and the worst of the damage lay beyond her reach. She tried to hide her worry, but Meg sensed it.

"It's a lost cause, isn't it?"

Ajsa looked at her, saw the pain and sadness contorting her pretty features. She considered lying to her, if only to ease some of the fear, but she recalled a promise she had once made, a long time ago. _Never lie to a dying man_.

"Y-yes," she said, choking on her grief. "There is internal bleeding, which I cannot mend."

Meg nodded, surprising both Guy and Ajsa with her courage. "I'm glad to have known you, Ajsa, even if only for a short time. I think we could have been great friends."

The tears started to fall, dropping onto Meg's cheek, as Ajsa leaned forward to kiss her forehead. She stroked her hair, offering the girl what little comfort she could.

"I think so, too," she replied softly. "I will never forget your bravery and spirit."

"May I-" said Meg, struggling to form the words. "May I have a moment with Sir Guy? I would like to know...what it's like."

Gisborne furrowed his brows, but Ajsa, understanding, whispered in his ear and stepped back to give them some privacy. She watched as he gathered Meg into his arms and kissed her gently on the lips. When he hugged her body to his, Ajsa knew that the girl was dead. She had witnessed countless deaths, but seeing Guy's reaction made Meg's all the more poignant. Embracing him from behind, Ajsa cradled Meg's head in one hand and Gisborne's in the other, sobbing into the nape of his neck.

The trees, silent and still, stood as sentinels, while the two figures mourned their mutual loss.


	21. Scars from the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ajsa finally reveals all her secrets to Gisborne.

_And right there where we stood was holy ground._ -"Holy Ground", Taylor Swift

Guy and Ajsa spoke little after Meg's death. They buried her where she lay, adorning her grave with wildflowers and a makeshift wooden cross. Although she knew there was nothing she could have done, Ajsa nevertheless felt responsible for including Meg in her plan. If she had freed Gisborne alone, the girl would still be alive. But her own guilt was nothing compared to Guy's.

"She pushed me out of the way," he said, astonishment coloring his voice. "Do you think she knew what she was doing, or was it merely an instinct?" He looked at Ajsa, desperate for her to vindicate him.

She sighed, sitting down on a fallen log. They had been trekking through the forest for hours, and her feet were starting to hurt.

"I do not know what Meg was thinking when she shielded you from that halberd," Ajsa replied. "It may have been premeditated," she said, and Gisborne's face fell, "or it may have been spontaneous."

"You didn't jump in front of me," he pointed out.

"Meg was closer." Guy averted his gaze, but Ajsa leaned forward so that he had no choice but to look at her. "Would I have?" she asked, voicing the question he was reluctant to consider. "I do not know. It has been a long time since I have had a person for whom I would sacrifice myself."

Guy closed his eyes. "Your husband," he said hollowly.

"Yes," Ajsa said, "and no." His eyes snapped open, and he stared at her with a mixture of curiosity and hope. Reaching for his hand, she pulled him down to sit beside her on the log. "Because you are important to me, you deserve to know about my past. It is true that I had a husband, but he died in the Holy Land."

"He was a soldier," remarked Gisborne, surprised.

Ajsa nodded. "An English one, at that," she added, smiling at Guy's bemused expression. "As I told you, I accompanied my father to the Holy Land and worked as a nurse. Richard was one of the wounded I tended to. I learned English from him, among other skills."

"Such as how to break a man's nose," supplied Gisborne, remembering her conversation with Meg. His lips twitched in fond amusement, despite the recent tragedy.

"Yes, such as that," Ajsa affirmed. "We were not married long before he was killed in the fighting. I could not save him either." Her voice quivered with emotion she rarely allowed herself to feel anymore, and Gisborne's heart ached for her. But he resisted the urge the envelop her in his arms. "Nor could I save our child."

"Dear God," he breathed, his stomach clenching from her confession. "Ajsa, I-"

"Do not pity me," she snapped at him, but her eyes shimmered with tears. When the first of them fell, leaving trails along her dirt-smudged cheeks, Guy could remain idle no longer. He lifted her easily into his lap and held her while she cried for her husband, her child, and for Meg.

He was no stranger to tragedy, but his experiences paled in comparison to the pain and suffering Ajsa had endured. She had lost not only her parents and husband, but her own flesh and blood, as well. To lose one's babe... Guy could not even begin to imagine how that must have felt.

He brushed his lips against her forehead and stroked her hair, unwillingly reminded of another time he had comforted a grieving woman. He had made a grave mistake then, one which he would not repeat.

"I don't pity you," he said finally. "I admire you." Taking deep, steadying breaths, Ajsa glanced up at him, waiting for him to elaborate. Guy gave her a half-smile. "Life has burdened you, but not hardened or defeated you. I envy your courage to still treat others with kindness."

"You are wrong," she said, with a shake of her head. Fresh tears filled her eyes, but she blinked them away. "There are days when the memories threaten to overwhelm me. Sometimes I swear I hear my daughter's cries, and I cannot sleep, for fear of the dreams that may visit me."

"How did she die?" he asked softly.

For an instant, the sadness in Ajsa's features was replaced with anger. Then she hung her head, as if in shame.

"A fever," she whispered. "She had a fever for days. I gave her yarrow and feverfew, and I wrapped her little feet in vinegar-soaked cloths, but her fever continued to rage. She would not nurse, so I gave her boiled sheep's milk, but she would not take that either." Ajsa stared blankly ahead. "And then one night, her crying stopped and did not start again."

It was only when he felt moisture on his own cheek that he realized he was crying. He touched the teardrop and stared at Ajsa with something akin to awe. Never before had he felt another's heartache so poignantly.

"I don't know what to say," he confessed. She shook her head and offered him a rueful smile, but Gisborne was not satisfied with his reaction. He held her tightly, burying his face in her hair, and wished he could take away her pain, even if that meant absorbing it into himself.

She continued her narrative, her voice slightly muffled by his chest.

"I do not know what caused the fever, and, initially, I was not concerned. Young children often get fevers, and it is usually safest to allow them to run their course. But she got hotter and hotter...and she stopped taking in liquids..." Ajsa clung to him as the memories resurfaced. "I was helpless, like I was with Richard and Meg. It is a terrible thing to watch a loved one dying and not be able to do anything."

Guy could not relate. The last time he'd watched a loved one die, _he_ had been the cause of her death. A pang of self-loathing rose like bile, but he swallowed it down for Ajsa's sake. She needed him now, and he would not disappoint her.

"And was your hus-," he began, then cleared his throat, "Richard there, as well?"

"No," said Ajsa, with a bitter laugh. "He had died a few weeks before our daughter was born." She fell silent for a moment, picking at a loose string on Gisborne's tunic, before she spoke again, more hesitantly this time. "Sometimes I wonder if the shock caused her illness, if perhaps my sorrow somehow reached her while she was in my womb."

He pulled away to fix her with a hard look. "You're not responsible for their deaths, Ajsa," he said firmly.

That bitter laugh again. "A healer who cannot heal is always partly responsible. That is my duty, and I failed in it."

"No, you didn't," Guy insisted. "Sometimes things are out of our control. Sometimes things aren't meant to be."

He did not realize his blunder until Ajsa's expression darkened.

"So you are suggesting that my child was not meant to live?"

Wincing, he scrubbed his face in frustration. "I-I don't know _what_ I'm suggesting. Comforting others is not one of my skills."

"Perhaps she was not," Ajsa said quietly. "Both Christians and Pagans believe that everything happens for a reason. The difference is merely between who or what dictates such events."

"In Christianity, God decides who lives and dies," supplied Gisborne.

"While in Paganism, it is nature that decides."

"Nature, as in Mother Earth?" he inquired. One of the Pagans imprisoned by the Sheriff had uttered something to that effect.

Ajsa grinned, and although Guy knew he was the source of her amusement, he was nevertheless glad to see a lighter emotion on her face.

"In a sense," she agreed. "But that is too simplistic an explanation. Everything is entwined--Mother Earth, her plants, her animals, and humans. There is a balance within each individual component, and if that balance is thrown off, that is when droughts occur or humans fall ill."

"So according to Paganism, your daughter was sick because her body was...out of balance?"

"Yes," said Ajsa. "I do not understand what causes sickness, but I know it is more complicated than 'the will of God'. I have seen inside animals, and they are complex, therefore humans must be equally, if not more, complex." She saw Gisborne's gaze grow wary at her implication, but forged on regardless. "When you were in the Holy Land, did you interact with any of the Saracens you killed?"

"No," he said, his lip curling in derision. "They're heathens."

She sighed, half in exasperation and half in disappointment.

"This is precisely what is wrong with Christianity. Its narrow-mindedness cripples it and its believers." Guy would not argue with that, but he thought her interpretation was slightly flawed. Curious, however, he did not interrupt her. " _If_ you had interacted with the Muslims, you may have learned about their healing methods. They do not merely mix potions, they also have a staggering knowledge of how the human body works. They know the causes of ailments that Christians attribute to God, and often, how to cure them."

"Couldn't they cure your daughter, then?"

"They might have been able to," said Ajsa, sadness creeping into her voice once more, "but my father and I had already left the Holy Land to return home."

Mentally berating himself for his thoughtlessness, Gisborne racked his brain for an appropriate response. He had never been particularly adept at dealing with emotions, but for Ajsa, he would try.

"I'm so sorry," he said, and he meant it.

She rewarded him with a smile. It was fleeting and shaky, but he felt reassured by it.

"It has been five years, so the pain has dulled somewhat."

"And you haven't...been with a man since then?" he asked carefully.

"No," she replied, with a shake of her head, "you are the first since Richard." Ajsa kissed his jaw and met his gaze. "Men have tried, of course, but none sparked my interest. You, however, have demons, like I do. You have also known loss."

He was baffled by her reasoning. "You're interested in me because I'm broken?"

"In a way," she affirmed and flashed him a wry smile. "I am interested in you because you are healing. The bad is slowly being replaced by good, and it is remarkable to witness that."

"I'm not a good man," he warned her.

"A wicked man would not mourn a girl he had only known for a day."

"A good man wouldn't murder a woman he loved because she loved another," he countered.

"I did not say you were _always_ a good man," Ajsa quipped, bringing the shadow of a smile to Gisborne's lips. "Rather, you are becoming one, and I am happy to be present for that."

Guy smiled tenderly at her, his gaze full of affection. "You're more than present for it," he explained. "You're the catalyst of it. I tried to be a better man for Marian and ultimately failed. I will not fail you, Ajsa," he said and bent down to kiss her.

"It is not I you must not fail," she said, stroking his cheek, "it is yourself. Be a better man for _you_ , and you will therefore be a better man for me."

"So you intend to...remain with me?"

His hopeful tone tugged at Ajsa's heart, and she leant up to kiss him, allowing her lips to linger and meld with his. When they separated, she touched her forehead to his.

"I do," she answered.

"Thank God," he whispered and cupped her cheeks. She gave him a disapproving stare, and he smirked. "Thank Mother Earth, then. Is that better?"

"Infinitely," Ajsa said, with a laugh, and Guy thought he could scarcely be happier.

 


	22. To Yield

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guy, Ajsa, and Robin encounter a ghost from the past in Sherwood Forest.

Ajsa followed Gisborne through the forest, watching in bemusement as he scanned their surroundings for dangers. The woods were quiet, save for birdsong, and not even the breeze rustled the autumnal leaves. But from the bow and arrow in his hands, Guy was clearly expecting a threat.

"There is no one else here, Sir Guy." He glanced back at her to flash her an admonishing glare and placed a finger to his lips to silence her. She rolled her eyes. "The only thing you are likely to shoot is a squirrel," she continued in a whisper, "which would actually be welcome, as I am quite hun-"

She was interrupted by another person, one whom both she and Guy instantly recognized.

"Are you realizing now how difficult life can be in the forest?"

"Hood," Gisborne snarled and aimed his bow in the direction of the voice. Robin Hood stood amongst the trees, observing the black knight with amusement. "How long have you and your men been following me?"

"Us," Ajsa corrected him, in a disgruntled tone.

"You're jumpy," Robin remarked. "I have better things to do with my day, Gisborne. I'm alone."

A twig snapped nearby, drawing the men's attention, but neither appeared to be overly concerned by the noise. Gisborne tossed aside the bow and drew his sword.

"Really?" marveled Robin, but he drew his own blade, as well. "You're really sure you want to do this now?"

"Why not?"

"Well, honestly," said Robin, "I don't think you have the energy."

"I don't need food or sleep to drive me," Guy insisted.

"Yes, you do," retorted Ajsa.

Robin glanced at her. Although she looked less bedraggled than Gisborne did, her hair was nevertheless tangled and the bottom of her dress was torn.

"Then what _do_ you need?" he asked the other man.

"Revenge."

"On who, Prince John?"

"Prince John will keep. Isabella will not," replied Gisborne. "And neither will you." He sprang forward, his sword glinting in the wan sunlight. Ajsa rushed to stand between them, but before she could reprimand them for their foolishness, Guy suddenly froze. Accompanying his surprised expression was a small dart protruding from his neck. He crumpled to the ground as a dart was shot into Robin's neck, and he also fell.

"What is happening?" murmured Ajsa, inspecting Gisborne's motionless form. He was breathing slowly but steadily. Removing the dart from his neck, she sniffed the tip and cringed. Whatever the point had been dipped into was no valerian root. Its effects had been too swift for the small amount used.

Then she felt a sharp pain in her own neck and cursed, but was unable to stop her body from slumping forward onto Gisborne's. Her last thought before she slipped into unconsciousness was that all three of them were doomed.

#

When Guy awoke, his hands and legs were tied, and he was lying on the forest floor. He heard the crunching of dry leaves behind him as someone moved around.

"Who's done this?" he demanded, glancing back at the outlaw. "Hood?"

Robin shook his head in negation, and, for once, Guy believed him. Remembering that Ajsa had been in the forest with them, he searched frantically for her and found her lying a few feet away, still asleep. When he tried to move towards her, a hooded figured blocked his path.

"Hood..." he said, trailing off ominously. They watched the stranger step over Gisborne and sit down on a log by the fire.

"Who sent you?" Guy inquired. "Prince John?"

"No, this is one of your sister's tricks," Hood stated. "What does Isabella want with us?"

"I want you to listen and understand. Someone's life depends on it," said the mysterious man.

Guy's gaze flicked to Ajsa again. "Herlife?"

"She's not dead, merely unconscious," the stranger assured him. "I was only expecting you and Robin, you see, and the dosage must have been too strong for her."

"If she dies, I'll kill you," Gisborne growled.

"So will I," added Robin.

They struggled against the ropes biting into their wrists, but the knots were tied both expertly and tightly.

"If you expect me to listen," Guy spat, "you're going to have to free me."

"I'll free you," confirmed the man. "I'll free you from the bad blood that shackles you to each other."

"Well, maybe there are good reasons for that bad blood," Gisborne muttered, glaring at the man. "What do you know about our lives anyway?"

"More than you do. I know the truth."

"The truth about what?" Hood asked, irritated.

"About how your parents really died."

Guy exchanged a glance with the outlaw. "You know about the fire. So?"

"It was never a secret," said Robin. "Everybody knew that we both became orphans that day."

"There are still things you don't know about your past," the stranger insisted. "Now, I'm going to let you sit up, but you have to listen to my tale."

Once Robin and Guy and were seated in front of the fire, the man explored their shared history, beginning with the affair between Guy's mother and Robin's father.

"My father loved one woman only, and that was my mother," Robin asserted.

Gisborne exhaled a scornful sigh. "That's just what you were told. The truth was kept from you by your _precious_ father."

"What are you talking about?" demanded Robin.

"He shielded you from reality, like he always did," Guy sad, with a bitter smile. "You were never made to face the consequences of your actions."

"You were once on a very different path, Robin," said the hooded figure, forcing the outlaw to remember his misdeeds as a child.

"I was truly sorry for what happened that night," Robin confessed. "It was a mistake, which I learned from, and it was one that made me a better man."

"How touching," Gisborne sneered. "Look, I don't see the point of any of this."

"You need to know the truth to save a life," repeated the stranger. And so he delved into his memories, divulging secrets that not even Guy knew.

"More lies," Robin accused.

"There was never any child," said Gisborne.

The man withdrew his dagger and stood. "If you think me a liar, there's no point in your being here."

"You're going to kill me with no means to defend myself?" Guy asked nervously. "I expected nothing less from you, Bailiff Longthorn." But instead of cutting his throat, the stranger cut Gisborne's, and then Robin's bonds.

Once he was free, Guy untied the ropes around Ajsa's legs and hands. He checked her pulse, and when he was satisfied that she was breathing normally, he hoisted her into his arms, intending to leave this strange day behind him. But he stopped midstride as his gaze met hers.

"You're awake," he remarked quietly, so that only she could hear him.

"Aye," she nodded. Ajsa recalled the pain in her neck, and when she touched her fingers to her skin, she found only a tiny pinprick from the tip of the dart. "What happened?"

Gisborne scowled. "We were kidnapped by a madman, but we're leaving now," he said, following Robin from the campsite.

"If you walk away, your brother will die," the stranger warned them. They paused, turning back towards the man. "Do you want that on your consciences?"

"Keep talking," Robin commanded, and the stranger obeyed.

Huddled close to the fire, Ajsa learned much about Guy and Robin that night. She learned that Guy's father had returned from the Holy Land infected with leprosy, and that he had been exiled from the village because of it. She learned about the terrible decision Lady Ghislaine had been forced to make, and how Robin and Guy had nearly become stepbrothers as a result of it.

"They never married," Hood said skeptically.

"No," affirmed the stranger, "they only ever planned to. Didn't they, Guy?"

Gisborne stopped pacing and crossed his arms over his chest. Ajsa looked up at him, and then at Robin.

"You knew," said the outlaw.

"I found out," Guy corrected him. "I saw my mother making her way into the forest, so I followed her. She still loved him. I was so angry, because she told me I had to forget him, pretend that he didn't exist." His tone grew harsh. "Yet there she was, denying me my father. I confronted her on her way back to the village, and she told me she and Malcolm intended to marry so that he could support us now that my father could not. Then she collapsed in pain, and I ran for help. I ran so fast..." His face changed, his expression softening, and a look of realization flashed in his eyes. "I thought she was ill, but-"

"She had gone into labor," Ajsa deduced.

The stranger nodded, and Gisborne sat down, covering his mouth with his hand. Ajsa recognized the gesture as a sign of distress. She touched his arm, and the contact was enough to make him glance at her, before he met Robin's troubled gaze.

"What happened to the baby?" Hood asked.

"He was early but strong," replied the man. "The baby was to be taken to a safe place, until the parents could marry and reclaim him. But that was the last Malcolm or Ghislaine ever saw of their son."

Ajsa listened as each man recounted his role in the tragic fire that orphaned young Robin, Guy, Isabella, and Archer.

"I should have saved them," Gisborne whispered, staring at the ground in despair. "I should've braved the flames."

"It would have been too late," the stranger told him. "She was already dead from the blow she suffered to her head. Robin's father...," said the man haltingly. "It was an accident, but he-"

The stranger was unable to finish, for Guy had pinned Robin to the forest floor and was choking him.

"Stop it!" Ajsa cried, struggling to pull Gisborne off the outlaw. "You will kill him!"

"That's how Ghislaine died," the man calmly reminded them. "She, too, was trying to stop a pointless fight."

Guy came to his senses and released Robin's throat, but he retained his position above the outlaw.

"His father killed my mother," he snarled, readying his fist to punch Robin. "And as his father is dead,-"

"No, he isn't," the stranger cut in.

Guy's head snapped up, and he stared at the man in a mixture of shock and disbelief.

"Explain yourself," he demanded.

"Your father spared his life, allowing him to escape."

Robin pushed Gisborne aside and shoved the stranger up against a tree.

"My father would _never_ have left me alone!" he bellowed.

The man finally removed his hood, revealing a scarred and weather-beaten face. But the outlaw recognized it.

"I'm sorry, Robin," he said. "How could I be your father after what I had done, after all I had taught you about honor? I couldn't bear to see the shame in your eyes."

Robin's features contorted from the tumult of emotions he was experiencing. Ajsa felt a deep sympathy for him, and even Gisborne's anger towards him softened in the face of such a heartrending discovery.

"You killed her," Guy sad flatly. "All these years, I thought it was my fault, that my parents had died because of the fire I'd started. But it was you." He walked towards Malcolm, his rage returning at the crime committed against his parents. "That guilt was with me every day!" he roared and grabbed the man by his shirt.

Robin intervened, pulling Gisborne away from his father.

"Can't you see he deserves this? He's betrayed us both," shouted Guy.

"You're right," Malcolm agreed. "Death would be a release. There have been many times that I've been tempted to do the job myself."

"And you expect us to feel sorry for you?" retorted Robin.

"Of course not."

"Then why tell us after all this time?" Guy asked, suspicious.

"Because of your brother," Malcolm explained. "I need you to forgive each other." Robin looked at Gisborne and scoffed at the request. "You must unite if you are to save him."

"He is right," Ajsa remarked, startling both Robin and Gisborne. She had been so quiet during the discussion that they had forgotten she was even there. "Your fathers destroyed each other and the families they loved. Do not repeat their errors." Ajsa glanced at Malcolm, expecting him to react angrily to her words, but he merely gave her a grim smile.

"Both of your lives could have been so different, were it not for the mistakes your parents made," Malcolm said sadly.

"We can't change that," said Robin, "and I can never forgive Guy."

"Why not?" his father asked.

"Because he showed no remorse for what he did to Marian."

Gisborne shook his head. "You know nothing."

"You worked and killed for the Sheriff for years," Robin accused him.

"And you'd still be living under his power, were it not for me."

Robin's eyes narrowed in confusion, and then widened in understanding.

"You killed the Sheriff."

"And I intend to kill the new one, too," vowed Guy.

"First you must join together to save your brother," Malcolm insisted. "I searched for many years, but I've finally found him. I thought if I could tell him the truth about who he was... It seemed like the right thing to do," he said, his gaze flicking to Gisborne, "for Ghislaine."

"Where is he?" Guy asked.

"York jail," Malcolm replied. "He is to hang." Gisborne's lips parted in concern, and he looked at the outlaw. "I'm too sick to help. I'm dying, Robin. You and Guy are my last chance. Together, I know you can both do this. Remember the birthmark, shaped like an arrowhead." Gisborne raised his head to the dawning sky, overwhelmed by all that he had learned. Malcolm watched him, knowing he had successfully convinced him. "It is why your mother named him Archer."

"I won't let him die, Father," said Robin, also moved by his half-brother's fate. He hesitated before he embraced Malcolm for the first time in over a decade.

Malcolm's eyes closed, and he hugged his son with one arm, while the other arm surreptitiously reached for his blowpipe.

"I wish I could see you three together at last," he said wistfully.

"Surely we have more time."

Malcolm looked pained as he brought the blowpipe to his lips. "I'm sorry."

An instant later, Robin was sprawled unconscious on the ground again. Guy watched him fall and raised his hands to show he posed no threat.

"Look, I really have no desire to see you again," he said to Malcolm, in an attempt to get him to lower his blowpipe. But Malcolm blew into it, and a dart flew into Gisborne's neck.

"Was that really necessary?" snapped Ajsa, as she examined Robin and Guy.

"I couldn't risk either one stopping me," Malcolm answered. His voice tinged with regret. "I'm dying, and I'd rather die alone."

Ajsa glared at him. "So you are abandoning your son a second time."

"It's better for him," Malcolm assured her, but she merely gazed up at him skeptically. "Please ensure that they save Archer," he pleaded. "And that they save themselves, as well."

Despite her irritation, she nodded. "Is that why you have not stuck a dart into my neck, too?"

"That's one reason, yes," said Malcolm, with a brief smile. A tortured shadow descended upon his face, and Ajsa understood the other reason he had spared her.

"You are not responsible for Ghislaine's death," she reassured him.

"I am," he said softly, "but you're kind to say so." Malcolm wrapped his tattered cloak around his body and set off into the woods. Glancing back at Ajsa, he quipped, "Keep them from killing each other."

"I will," she promised him and smiled down tenderly at Gisborne. "Of course I will."

Half an hour later, Guy awoke with his head in Ajsa's lap. Although it felt like his skull was trying to crush his brain, as he gazed up at Ajsa, he thought there were certainly worse ways to recover from a drug-induced sleep.

"So, what now?" wondered Robin, with a groan of pain. Sitting up, he looked dazed as he tried to collect his wits.

Gisborne stood unsteadily and helped Ajsa to her feet. "Enough," he barked. "No more talk."

"Then what do you think we sh-"

"To York?" Robin regarded Guy with an inscrutable expression, then nodded his assent. Guy proffered his hand to Robin and pulled him up. "We're going to need horses," he said.

"And my men," added Robin.

"And me." Robin and Gisborne shared a wary glance, but before either could voice his protests, Ajsa said, "Your brother is due to hang, yes?" They nodded, uncertain as to her meaning. "If he is due to hang, he must have done something very bad or made someone very angry with him. Whichever it is, you are putting yourselves into danger to rescue him, so you will need a healer with you, in case the situation turns sour."

Guy was firmly against Ajsa's participation in the jailbreak, but Robin considered her reasoning.

"Can you fight?" he asked her.

She shrugged. "I can break a man's nose."

"Well, that's good enough for me," announced Robin, grinning at Ajsa. "Gisborne?"

"How I feel is irrelevant, because she's going to do what she wants to anyway," Guy said dryly, giving Ajsa a pointed look. She offered him a small but self-satisfied smile. "My only condition is that you always stay with one of us. Don't wander off alone, and don't get overconfident. You're not that good of a fighter."

"How would you know?" she challenged him. "You have never seen me fight. I prevented that brute from raping me, did I not?"

Gisborne rolled his eyes. "Yeah, but only because he wasn't expecting a kick to the nose. In a real fight, I doubt you'd last five minutes."

"It is a damn shame I do not have a gauntlet to throw down," she said coldly, "for I would wipe that smug smirk off your face."

"Now, now, let's play nice," Robin chided them. Guy scowled at the reprimand, but Ajsa took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, and forced a smile.

"You are right, Robin," she apologized. "We have a more important task to do than to engage in petty squabbles." She held out her hand to Gisborne, her eyes twinkling with a mixture of mischief and warmth. "Truce?"

He sighed. After countless lost battles, he knew when he was beat.

"Truce," he relented and shook her hand. Instead of releasing it, however, Guy held onto it as the three of them headed for the edge of the forest. He had yielded to Ajsa this time, but he suspected he would do so many more times to come.


	23. Jail Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin, Guy, and Ajsa go to York to free Archer. High jinks, betrayals, and confessions follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a criminally long time since I updated this story, but life (and video games) got in the way. As an apology, I come bearing a 6000+ word chapter (count them, over 6000 words), which I hope will make up for my prolonged absence.

Following their encounter with Malcolm, they returned to Locksley Manor to gather supplies. While Guy and Robin fetched three horses, Ajsa sneaked inside through the kitchen door to pack enough bread, cheese, and dried meat for each of them. She broke off a few pieces of bread for herself, before wrapping the loaf in a clean cloth and placing it into a sack. She met Guy and Robin outside the stables. Gisborne held out a hand to help her onto the horse, but she ignored it and climbed astride the red chestnut gelding with ease.

"Shouldn't a lady ride side-saddle?" inquired Robin. A smirk played upon his lips, which only grew at Ajsa's response.

"I do not see any ladies here, do you?" Although she had addressed the outlaw, Ajsa flashed Gisborne a look of challenge, one that almost invited him to scold her.

But he merely shook his head in fond exasperation. Truthfully, Guy had never been one to follow the conventions of polite society, and he secretly enjoyed that Ajsa did not, either. She flouted what was proper, just as she had flouted his authority.

When Robin and Guy were in their own saddles, she urged her horse into a walk.

"I assume that neither of you has ridden side-saddle before," Ajsa stated. "If one does not have a saddle specifically designed for side-saddle riding, it is exceedingly awkward. One cannot post, because one lacks the required leverage, forcing the rider to bounce and jostle atop the poor horse's back."

"It does look a bit ridiculous," Robin agreed. "But I doubt a woman dressed in layers upon layers of skirts could effectively straddle a horse."

Ajsa nodded. "I can say from personal experience that it is indeed difficult to straddle _anything_ in all the layers of clothing that befit a noblewoman."

Robin choked on his laughter, but Gisborne looked at her sharply.

"Just what have you straddled while wearing so many layers?"

"The question is not _what_ ," she said suggestively, "but _whom_."

"I see," he said stiffly and scowled in his saddle. Needless to say, his mood remained sour for the rest of the day.

#

After a hasty lunch of bread, cheese, and dried pork, the trio was nearing the outlaws' hideaway, deep in the heart of Sherwood Forest. Robin stopped his bay gelding atop a small ridge.

"We go no further, unless I know I can trust you," he warned Gisborne. "I can't just betray the others and bring you to the camp."

"You can trust me," Guy assured him. "Just don't ask me to forgive your father."

Robin's eyes flashed. "Now you listen to me, Gisborne. If we're going to work together, then we have to leave that behind."

"That's easy for you to say. Your father seduced my mother."

"Well, it didn't take much effort, did it?" Robin countered angrily.

In response, Guy shoved the outlaw off his horse, sending the two men tumbling down the hill. They quickly regained their feet and proceeded to hit, kick, and punch each other over the mutual, inflicted hurts from the past. Ajsa watched from her horse, rolling her eyes at their childish antics. She was not terribly concerned by the scuffle, since neither had drawn weapons yet.

Rather, it was the arrival of Robin's gang that concerned her, and with good reason. Much nocked an arrow and sent it whistling towards Gisborne, who only managed to avoid it because Robin had pushed him out of the way. Things happened quickly after that. Ajsa vaulted off her horse, Tuck restrained Guy, and Kate readied her sword to plunge it into his chest.

"No!"

Ajsa's cry rang out, melding with Robin's.

"He killed my brother," Kate spat at them.

"He's one of us," said Robin.

The outlaws looked at him, shocked.

"What?" demanded Little John.

"I said, he's one of us," Robin repeated.

Ajsa glanced between Guy, who looked terrified, and Kate, who still held her blade above his chest. As much as she hated Guy, she trusted and obeyed Robin. With a furious yell, she stabbed her sword into the ground beside Gisborne's head.

Ajsa shouldered past Tuck and Kate to help Gisborne to his feet, while Robin was similarly assisted by Much. They were dirty and sweaty, but the only thing bruised was their pride. After a tense, silent moment, Allan cleared his throat.

"It's good to see you again, Ajsa," he said, flashing her a bright smile, "and you, too, Giz."

Guy scowled at Allan's nickname for him. "Found your way back to Hood after all, did you?"

"You know it," Allan said cheerfully. The others, however, were less genial towards Gisborne, eyeing him with suspicion as Robin led the way to their secret camp.

"So, that's where you've been, then," Little John said, in an accusatory tone. "With him."

"I've been with my father," Robin said.

"I thought your father was dead," said Much.

"So did I."

The survival of Robin's father, however, did not distract Little John.

"He's not one of us, Robin, and he never will be!" he bellowed.

"Gisborne has chosen to join us in our struggle."

"You can't trust him," the big man insisted.

Robin gave him a meaningful glance. "He killed the sheriff."

"And we're almost family, aren't we, Robin?" Gisborne drawled from behind Little John. "We share a brother."

The gang stared at Robin and Guy, a mixture of shock and disbelief on their faces.

Much scoffed. "What? A brother?" Robin nodded. "Both of you?"

"My father...his mother." Before his friends could digest that information, Robin continued. "Our brother is in jail in York, awaiting execution. I promised my dying father that I would rescue him, and I intend to honor it. Gisborne, Ajsa, and I will go to York and bring him back. If it were any of you, you know I'd do the same."

"And who'll bring my brother back to me, Robin?" demanded Kate. "There was no one to stop _his_ execution."

Gisborne strode forward to address Kate. "Look, like it or not, we share a common goal--to destroy Isabella," he stated. "The enemy of my enemy is my friend. You don't have to like me. I don't like you. But you need me."

"We don't need you," Much said primly.

Allan, who was more open-minded towards Gisborne, disagreed.

"If he can help rid us of Isabella--,"

"He's pure evil, Robin!" Kate protested.

"Do you still believe good conquers evil?" Guy asked rhetorically. "You need me to defeat Isabella, and, to do that, we need our brother in York."

"Who is this brother, Robin?" inquired Tuck.

"His name is Archer. We've never met," Robin explained. "All I know is he's traveled far and wide and has a knowledge of exotic weapons he's brought back from the East."

"Isabella's forces are far greater than ours. Archer's weapons will make us stronger," Guy rationalized.

Much folded his arms across his chest. "We all go."

"And who will protect the people from Isabella?" Robin asked.

"Well, who's going to protect you?"

"Much, I'll be safe."

"Besides, I will be with him," Ajsa said, as if that would reassure Robin's friends. Much stared at her doubtfully. "You can trust me, Much. I promise you that Robin will come to no harm from Guy."

"Really?" snorted Kate. "And just _how_ can you make such a promise?"

Ajsa glared at her. "Because I know Guy in a way that you do not."

"As his bed-warmer, you mean," Kate said acerbically.

Gisborne was about to jump to Ajsa's defense, but, as if she had known his intention, she offered him a small smile. Against his better judgment, he was placated.  

"Yes," agreed Ajsa, her admission startling Kate into silence, "and in other ways, as well."

Robin passed a wary glance between the two women. Satisfied that the confrontation was over, he said reasonably, "No one is going to recognize Gisborne and me in York."

And that was how Ajsa found herself riding sixty-nine miles in three days. When they could, they followed the road, but the forest was usually safer. It would've been disastrous indeed should they be waylaid by bandits or guards. By early afternoon of the third day, they reached the York Road.

"Tollhouse," observed Gisborne.

Robin shot him a wary glance. "It's not worth the risk."

"Well, they collect money for Isabella. Robbing them is robbing her."

"Why do we have to rob _anyone_ ," she protested.

"We're outlaws now," said Guy, "and that's what outlaws do."

"We only rob the rich, Gisborne," Robin corrected him. "And anyway, Ajsa, Isabella sentenced you to death, along with her brother. Why do you speak up for her?"

"Because we are both women," she said simply. "Isabella, too, has suffered at the hands of men, so if she has become cruel and vindictive, she learned it from them."

"You haven't," Guy pointed out.

Ajsa's eyes darkened. "You have no idea what I have done." Then, she spurred her horse into a walk and said, "If we are to rob the toll-collector, we should do it now while there is no one else around."

Guy and Robin exchange a look of curiosity mixed with concern, then followed her down the road to the tollhouse.

After relieving the toll-collector of silver, the trio entered the city and led the horses slowly along the streets. Discovering Archer's location was not difficult; York, like most other medieval cities, housed its prisoners in the castle dungeons.

"He's inside that," said Gisborne, inclining his head towards York's large, stone castle.

"Well, it can't be that difficult, can it?"

Ajsa glanced at the castle, before stating, "I shall find a place to tie the horses, and you find a way inside."

Gisborne's hand caressed hers as she took the reins from him.

"Be careful, Ajsa," he said softly, so that only she could hear. "We'll meet you in the tavern when we're finished."

He watched her lead the horses away, until Robin nudged his shoulder.

"You really do care for her," he observed, his voice tinged with surprise.

"I really do," Guy affirmed. For once, neither a frown nor a scowl marred his features during his interaction with the outlaw.

"If I hadn't seen it for myself, I wouldn't believe it."

Gisborne cast a sidelong glance at Robin. "I cared for Marian, too."

"I know," sighed Robin, "yet she still met her end at the point of your sword."

"I know."

Further conversation was prevented as they neared the castle. Peering around a corner, they glimpsed a half-dozen, well-armored men.

"The place is heavily fortified. There are guards on every entrance," said Gisborne.

"I know," replied Robin. "I think the only way in is to get invited."

"Even if we are, how do we get into the dungeon?"

Robin looked contemplative. "I've no idea," he said finally. "Come on, let's find Ajsa. Maybe she'll have some suggestions."

"I highly doubt she will," muttered Gisborne. "As far as I know, she's never been in a situation that would require her to sneak into a dungeon."

"Don't underestimate her, Gisborne," Robin advised him, smiling for the first time that day. "She did, after all, engineer her own escape from Vaisey."

They found Ajsa sitting at a table in the tavern, eating a bowl of stew with a thick slice of brown bread. From the way she was wolfing down her food, Gisborne suspected that the past three days of hard riding had taken their toll on her. He felt a twinge of guilt.

Spying them, Ajsa paused eating long enough to ask, "So, did you find a way inside?"

Robin shook his head and sat down beside her, while Gisborne took the chair across from her. Guy ordered bread, ale, and roast pork for the table, then explained the situation.

"We've got two fairly difficult problems. One, we don't know what he looks like."

"We'll recognize him by his birthmark," Robin assured Gisborne.

"An arrow, right?" asked Ajsa, spearing a chunk of pork onto her knife.

Robin nodded. "Don't worry, Gisborne, we'll find him when we get there."

"Which brings us to problem two."

Before Guy could elaborate, a chair sailed past them, narrowly missing their heads, and crashed against the wall. A brawl had erupted between two patrons, who knocked over a neighboring table. Robin and Gisborne proclaimed their outrage with identical exclamations, amusing Ajsa, but her humor vanished when they were somehow dragged into the disagreement, as well. Food was thrown at her, forcing her to duck. Irritated, she snatched up a rib bone from their pork roast and hurled it into the fray.

As the scuffle grew more violent, Gisborne pulled her down behind their table. Men were shoving each other now, while wooden plates and mugs collided with skulls. Robin watched the proceedings with a keen, if cautious, eye.

"I think I have a plan," he announced.

"I'm listening," said Guy.

"You get arrested, get taken to the dungeons, find Archer, and we'll bribe the guards and come to see you."

"And then what?"

"And then we escape," Robin said impatiently.

"How?"

"Well, I don't know. I haven't worked that out yet, have I?" snapped Robin.

"Forget it," Guy said, standing. "It'll never work."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm not going to get myself arrested."

"Why not?"

Guy sat down and took a long drink of his ale.

"Because you'll leave me in the dungeon."

Robin also sat down. "I will not _leave you_ in the dungeon. You have my word."

Ajsa watched as two guards tried to calm the commotion, but the brawlers ignored them in favor of tackling each other.

"You see, that's where this falls down."

"All right, I'll get myself arrested, then," Robin relented.

"That sounds like a better plan," said Guy, mollified.

"And then you come to get me out."

Guy made a noncommittal gesture, and Robin gave a humorless laugh.

"See?" remarked Gisborne. "Suddenly it's not such a good idea, is it?"

Ajsa slammed her fist down onto the table, startling Guy and Robin from their banter.

"For pity's sake," she groaned, "if you two do not shut up, I shall get _myself_ arrested just to escape this idiotic discussion." Guy opened his mouth to reply, but Ajsa cut him off with a satisfied smile. "Actually, the more I think about it, the more that solution seems the most ideal."

"No."

Her companions' refusal was swift and simultaneous.

Although she felt mildly insulted that they had not even considered her idea, she hid it behind a resolute mask.

"Then stop bickering and decide on a plan," she hissed at them. "Your brother's life is at stake."

Chastised, Robin met Guy's gaze. "You know, I'm not sure I trust you yet," he said. Then he picked up a loaf of bread and lobbed it at one of the guards. "But we're about to find out."

Gisborne smirked, clapping Robin on the shoulder. "Come on, Ajsa," he said and strode smugly towards the door.

Ajsa glanced at Robin, who was watching Guy with a mixture of concern and curiosity. His expression morphed into one of amusement when, seconds later, the guards grabbed Gisborne's arms and dragged him from the tavern.

Ajsa smacked Robin's shoulder.

"Oi, What did I do to deserve _that_?" he asked. His grin vanished as he rubbed the sore muscle.

"Are you serious? You allowed the guards to believe Gisborne had accosted them with the bread."

"Well, yeah," said Robin, smiling once again. "You told us to make a decision, so I did." Ajsa fixed him with a withering stare. He sighed. "You know as well as I that Gisborne would never have volunteered to be arrested. Besides, I didn't know _who_ the guards would detain. It could've just as easily been me."

"Except Guy, not you, was walking towards them."

Robin smirked. "True, but that wasn't _my_ doing, was it?"

"I would not have allowed him to leave you in the dungeon," remarked Ajsa. "But no matter your intention, we now have to figure out a way to rescue _two_ people from jail."

#

After wandering the town for an hour, Robin and Ajsa spied two, well-dressed man concluding a business deal, during which a coin purse exchanged hands.

"All right, here's the plan," said Robin. "We ambush that man, take the coin purse, disguise ourselves, and use the money to bribe the sheriff into releasing Gisborne."

Ajsa arched a skeptical brow. "Do I look as though I could pass as a man?"

Robin considered her appearance, but, to his credit, restricted his scrutiny to her face. He grinned.

"No, but surely a man who wears brocade and furs has a female companion."

When their target re-entered his home, they followed him. While Robin made quick work of the man, Ajsa searched the house for suitable clothing. It seemed Robin was indeed correct, for she found a wardrobe full of gowns in a bedroom on the second floor. Ajsa donned the simplest one, a blue-gray, woolen dress that was nevertheless finer than the kirtles she wore, and fashioned her hair into a braided bun, over which she draped a white, linen veil. The veil served two purposes--to hide her unwashed hair and to give her the appearance of a proper, English lady.

Satisfied, Ajsa joined Robin downstairs. He was adjusting the fur collar of his ornate tunic, and, when he saw her, a grin formed on his face.

"Is this how you dressed as a noblewoman in Hungary?"

"I was cleaner," she said, "but yes, more or less. I also had a few silk gowns that I brought back with me from the Holy Land."

"We could both stand to be a bit cleaner," remarked Robin. He dipped his thumb into a half-drunk goblet of water to wipe away the dirt on Ajsa's face, and she did the same for him.

"Well, I do believe we're as presentable as we can be," he said. Affecting the crisp accent of the highborn, he offered his arm to Ajsa. "Shall we sally forth, my lady?"

She laughed and placed her hand demurely on his arm. "We shall, my lord."

It did not take them long to find the Sheriff of York, and, thanks to their new and improved attire, they were granted an audience with him.

"You see, the truth is Gisborne just had a bit too much to drink," explained Robin, in that same, ridiculous accent. "And, for that, I am sure he is profoundly sorry."

"An assault on one of the sheriff's men is an assault on the sheriff."

"Oh, believe me, I know," Robin agreed. "Would this be enough to salve the indignity of this terrible assault?" He counted out fifteen pieces of silver and stacked them in front of the sheriff.

The sheriff glanced from the money to Robin. "Perhaps..."

"Please, my lord," begged Ajsa, mimicking Robin's accent, "take pity on a poor wife. Accept our apology on my husband's behalf, for I simply do not know how I shall manage without him." She widened her eyes, feigning the most plaintive expression she could, and added a sniffle for good measure. Beside her, Robin struggled to stifle a snicker.

It seemed that their ruse had worked, because the sheriff pocketed the silver and said, "I would be an unjust man indeed to leave such a good wife husbandless. The assault is but a faint memory now, Sir. I thank you for your...sympathy."

"And we thank you for yours," said Robin.

The sheriff ordered a guard to escort them to the dungeons, but, before they left the room, an emissary from Isabella arrived. Robin's brow creased, and he pulled his fur collar up a bit higher, while Ajsa turned her head so that the veil obscured her face. She needn't have hid herself, though, for she did not recognize the man.

They reached the dungeon without incident. The guard unlocked the door, and Robin entered the cell. Guy spared her a disapproving but unsurprised glance and turned his attention to the outlaw.

"We have to hurry," Robin whispered. "One of Isabella's men is here."

"He's over here," said Guy, inclining his head towards the young man chained to the wall.

Robin conversed with him, then went to the guard.

"How much to take him with us?"

"How much do you have?" the guard countered.

Robin dropped a few silver pieces into his hand, but the guard rejected them. He dropped a few more, which were also rejected. After the third refusal, Robin punched him in the nose, and Guy dragged his unconscious body into the cell. Ajsa took the guard's keys and unlocked Archer's shackles.

"Why thank you," he said, with a charming, if cocky, smile. "What's a pretty girl like you doing with my newfound brothers?"

Ajsa rolled her eyes. Before she could fashion a witty response, Robin clapped a hand on Archer's back.

"You can flirt with her later," he said. "We need to go."

" _No_ , he can't," Guy protested.

But Archer ignored him. He was more concerned with the other prisoners.

"Either we all go, or none of us go," he declared.

Robin nodded to Ajsa, and she tossed the keys to one of the inmates. Once all the prisoners were unshackled, Gisborne led them from the dungeons. The Sheriff of York's men were already searching for Robin and Guy, but, for the moment, they were easily avoided.

As they walked, Archer asked questions.

"So, you're a noble who's now an outlaw with no money?"

"Yes," said Gisborne.

"Can you explain the point of that?"

Guy didn't have a chance to reply, because two guards lunged towards them. Archer dispatched them quickly, using techniques that were foreign to both his brothers, and requisitioned one of their swords. Gisborne proffered Ajsa the other one, which she accepted with an amused lift of her eyebrows.  

"Where did you learn that, the Orient?" asked Robin.

"Nah," said Archer, twirling his blade, "that's pure English." He addressed Gisborne again. "He doesn't have any money, does he?"

"No, I don't," replied Robin. "I gave up my family's wealth to help the poor."

Archer smiled indulgently. "Of course you did."

They continued along the corridors, and Archer continued his commentary.

"Both of you are mad. I know what poor is. I grew up that way. Neither of you had. There is no honor in being poor, and there's no shame in it, either. If you'd grown up with nothing, you'd know that, and you wouldn't apologize for wanting to have a little money, for dreaming of something better than what you've got."

Without warning, Guy shoved Archer against the wall.

"You know _nothing_ about my life, about what I've endured," he bellowed. "I envy you. Better no family, rich or poor, than a leper father and a mother..." He trailed off, exchanging an uncertain glance first with Robin, and next with Ajsa.

"My mother what?" prompted Archer, his voice a dangerous whisper.

Gisborne's anger softened, and he released his half-brother. "Was killed in a fire."

"What was her name?"

"Ghislaine," he said sadly.

Robin allowed Archer and Guy their moment, but once the rest of the prisoners caught up with them, he urged them to keep moving. Ajsa walked beside Gisborne, her heart hurting for him. Remembering the pain of losing her own mother, she laced her fingers with his. Guy's gaze snapped down to her, to their joined hands, and he sucked in a shocked breath. She pretended not hear it, which only added to his affection for her, as did the simple gesture itself. Unaccustomed to such kindness, he nevertheless took comfort in it.

Gisborne's contentment ended, however, when the guards discovered them. They killed one of the prisoners, but the rest of them would have remained unnoticed, had Archer not attacked the guards. Guy and Robin had no choice but to follow him as he hunted down the other soldiers. Ajsa, too, was pulled into the fight, and she held her own well enough, with the occasional help from one of the brothers. Unlike the men, who fought offensively, as well as defensively, Ajsa was strictly defensive, parrying and ducking and strafing.

With the arrival of Isabella's soldiers, Ajsa and her companions were sorely outnumbered. They ran, straight into a trap, barred on one side by the Sheriff of York's men and on the other side, by the Sheriff of Nottingham's men. Guy grasped Ajsa's hand, squeezing it, and she squeezed his back.

They were saved, however, when Isabella's emissary ordered that they be taken alive. But Archer was not satisfied with that. Grabbing Robin from behind, he pressed a dagger to his half-brother's throat, while Guy and Ajsa were restrained by Isabella's guards.

"Gentlemen, I offer you Robin Hood for my freedom," he said. Whether he was speaking to the emissary or to the Sheriff of York was uncertain. Or perhaps he was addressing them both. "He is valuable, and I am not. It'd be a shame for me to kill him, since he's worth so much more to you alive."

After a brief argument between the emissary and the Sheriff of York, Archer's deal was seemingly accepted. He released Robin and attempted to leave, but was stopped by more of York's men.

"Prepare them all to die," commanded the sheriff. "The Sheriff of Nottingham can keep her money. I'll send her their severed heads as a gift."

"What about the woman?" asked one of his soldiers.

"Hers, too," the sheriff snarled. "The woman is as guilty as Hood and Gisborne are in attempting to free Archer, so she will hang with them."

Ajsa was ushered out, along with Archer, Robin, and Guy. The guards led them outside, where a makeshift gallows was hastily constructed. They were forced to sit backwards on a horse, their hands were tied behind their back, and a noose was knotted for each of them.

"Well, I'm certainly glad I came to rescue my brother, aren't you, Robin?"

"This is not my fault," Archer protested.

"No?" challenged Gisborne. "Whose fault is it, then?"

"I didn't ask you to come," said Archer.

Ajsa turned her face up towards the sky, closing her eyes and swallowing the lump in her throat. This was the third time she'd been condemned to death, yet she felt no braver now than the first time. She resolved that if she survived this experience, there would not be a fourth. If that meant leaving Gisborne or his half-brother or even the King of Hungary in a jail cell, then so be it. Three near-executions was quite enough for one lifetime.

Her spiteful reverie was broken by the blare of trumpets as the sheriff and his wife arrived. When the drums began their ominous, rolling beat, a guard slipped the noose around Gisborne's neck. And then a small explosion erupted to Ajsa's right, providing the distraction they needed to slide off their horses. Allan appeared out of nowhere and untied her hands, and she saw that Archer and Robin were helped similarly by the rest of the gang.

Gisborne, however, remained atop his horse, with the noose still around his neck. Ajsa ran to help him, but Allan caught her, motioning towards Robin and Archer. They nocked an arrow each and let it fly, severing the rope from the gallows. Guy dismounted, and Ajsa freed his hands.

"They need your help," she said. Behind her, Little John was overwhelmed by York's guards.

Guy nodded. Taking the sword off a dead guard, he rushed to the big man's aid. Ajsa did her part, bashing soldiers over the head with blunt objects, breaking their noses with the heel of her hand, or, when the previous two tactics failed, kicking them in the groin. She always stuck close to either Guy or one of the outlaws, and she even ended up fighting back-to-back with Kate.

After they had incapacitated enough of the guards to escape, they made their way towards the horses that Ajsa had stabled. They encountered Isabella's emissary, who was preparing to kill Archer. Robin shot him and introduced Archer to the gang.

"Look, we need your help," said Gisborne. "We know you have weapons, and we need them."

"My weapons are for sale," Archer replied, with an infuriating smile. "Do you have money?"

"We just risked our lives for you, and you betrayed us. You owe us."

While Guy used intimidation, Robin tried the brotherly approach.

"Archer, I want you to join us," he said. "I want you to join us in the fight against Prince John."

"I'm flattered," said Archer, "but I have my own plans. And they don't include anyone else."

Untying the gray horse from its post, Archer mounted it and cantered off. Gisborne stared at his brother's retreating back with furrowed brows.

"He stole my horse," he said flatly.

Doubling up on horses, the gang wasted no time in returning to Sherwood Forest. Two geldings remained from Locksley, and the other mounts were the ones the Sheriff of York had planned to use for the hanging. Ajsa rode with Gisborne, taking turns at the reins. The outlaws stopped only to feed and water the horses. They ate whatever wild fruits they could forage and game they could hunt, and they slept on horseback. They made the trip in half the time it took to reach York, arriving safely but sorely in the camp within two days.

Ajsa had lived with the outlaws after escaping from Vasisey, so she was familiar with life in the camp. But Guy was an outsider--an unwelcome one, at that. He milled around, taking in the cramped yet well-stocked hideout that would be his home for the foreseeable future. He noted that they all had a designated bunk, even Ajsa, and wondered if there would be room for him, as well.

"So, where do you want me to sleep, then?" he asked them.

No one replied, but it was clear from their expressions that the outlaws did not want Gisborne to sleep anywhere near them. Finally, Robin gestured to the two bunks by Allan. During her stay with the outlaws, Ajsa had slept in the middle bunk, above Allan's, and it seemed that Guy would take the top bunk.

"Like old times, then, eh?" quipped Allan, flashing Ajsa a reassuring smile.

Gisborne, however, was _not_ reassured, especially when she smiled back. Frustrated by his reduced circumstances and by Archer's betrayal, he stalked outside, tossing a muttered explanation over his shoulder.

"What's _his_ problem?" inquired Much.

"You heard him," Little John said dismissively, "he's going to collect firewood."

"Good riddance if he gets lost and doesn't come back," huffed Kate. 

Ajsa glared at her, hiking up the skirt of her fine, woolen dress to follow Guy. Robin sighed but did not stop her.

"Kate," he said wearily, "if I can get along with Gisborne, so can you."

Allan laughed. "I'm not bein' funny, Robin, but when we found you two, you were punching each other on the forest floor."

"At least I'm trying," Robin retorted. "If we're to have any chance against Prince John, we need his help."

"I wasn't rude to him," Kate argued. "Besides, what reason does _he_ have to storm out? He acts as if he's the wounded party."

Tuck, as usual, was the voice of reason. "I suspect he is no more pleased with our company than we are with his."

Meanwhile, Ajsa found Guy sitting on a rock a little ways from the hideout, with a pile of firewood at his feet. He looked up when he heard her approach but did not rise.

"If you want to annoy them, you should stay in camp," she advised him.

"I don't want to annoy them," he said. "I don't care what they think of me. I'm with them because I cannot defeat Prince John and Isabella alone."

"You would not be alone," she pointed out. "You would have me."

Gisborne arched a brow. "An ally who refuses to kill her enemy could become a liability." Ajsa guiltily averted her gaze, staring at the bottom of her dress. "I saw you fighting in York. You evaded the guards, you hurt them, but you didn't kill them."

"I apologize for not being the hardened murderer that some others of us are," she snapped. But Gisborne did not react to the provocation. He sighed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

"Don't apologize," he said. "I told you once that I admired and envied your ability to treat people with kindness, even after the cruelty you've endured. I meant it then, and I mean it now."

"I did not always have that ability," she confessed. At Guy's curious glance, she continued. "After my father died, some of the men in my village thought I was easy prey, because I was a parentless widow. Most of them merely flirted or taunted, but others were bolder. They tried to corner me, individually and together, but we were always discovered by someone. Then, three of them found me one evening while I was tending the garden. I screamed, but they covered my mouth. I kicked and thrashed and bit, but they overpowered me and..."

Ajsa trailed off, but Guy knew exactly what those men had done to her. He clenched his fists so hard that his knuckles turned white. If he were ever to meet her rapists, he would kill them in the slowest and most agonizing way possible.

"It happened by the watermelons," she said, with a dark and bitter laugh. "I hate watermelon."

Taking her hand, he pulled her closer and cupped her cheek.

"Did all three...?"

"Rape me?" Ajsa supplied. He nodded. "No, only Miklós, the leader, did. The other two restrained me, or else I would have injured Miklós in a very vulnerable area."

Guy would've smiled, had the subject not been such a deadly serious one.

"What did you do?"

"Afterwards?" He nodded again. "Well, first I cleaned up and brewed a draught of wild carrot seed. Then I brewed a draught of hemlock and added it to Miklós's wine."

Despite the atrocities he had committed, a chill ran up Gisborne's spine at her calm, almost emotionless tone.

"You killed him."

"Yes," affirmed Ajsa. "I knew of no other way to protect myself from repeat offenses. When a man is wronged, he can fight for his honor, or he can inform the authorities. Not so for women. When a woman is wronged by a man, she is often blamed for provoking or tempting the man. I feared that either I would be viewed at fault, and would thus be punished, or that Miklós would merely be chastised but would not be prevented from hurting me again."

"Poisoning him was incredibly risky, Ajsa. If you'd been caught,--"

"I would have been sentenced to death," she said. "I know. But hemlock poisonings occur more often than you would think. It closely resembles parsnip, leading to inadvertent ingestion. Poisons are also undetectable to most people. The church physicians assumed that Miklós had died of a seizure, which they interpreted as demonic possession."

"But his companions," Guy insisted. "They must have suspected you were involved."

Ajsa smiled grimly. "I hoped that they would." Gisborne's eyes widened in disbelief. "You think me reckless," she guessed. "Perhaps I was, but how else was I going to protect myself? I had neither a father nor a husband to protect me, so, believe it or not, murder seemed like the safest option."

"Didn't they tell the authorities their suspicions?" he asked.

"No, they did not," Ajsa answered. "There was the risk that they would not be believed. I was fairly well-liked in my village, you know," she said, with a wry smile. "If they would have been suspected of slandering my name, it would not have boded well for their personal or business relationships."

"I see." He shifted his gaze to the forest floor, staring at the firewood, as he digested what she'd told him. But Ajsa took his reluctance to look at her in another way.

"You have killed, too," she reminded him.

His head snapped up, not angry by her accusation, but guilty.

"I don't think any less of you, Ajsa," he assured her. Cupping her cheek again, he stroked her soft, olive-tinged skin. "How could I, without condemning myself as a hypocrite?"

"You do not see me as soiled, as a damaged and violated woman?" she asked him. Guy was taken aback, though he shouldn't have been. After all, one of the first things he had learned about Ajsa was that she was often uncomfortably direct.

"Yes and no," he said, his lip curling in derision. "You have been damaged and violated, but I don't believe that... _soils_ you." Guy sounded so disgusted by the notion that Ajsa laughed.

"Then you are not like most men, Sir Guy of Gisborne." She leant down to kiss him, shyly at first, but when he cupped both her cheeks, she opened up to him beautifully, melding her lips to his and pressing ever closer.

"Oi, there you are!" came Allan's exclamation. "Robin was-" He abruptly went quiet as he glimpsed the intimate moment he had interrupted. "Uh, sorry, Giz, luv--er, Ajsa..."

Allan's ears turned red from embarrassment, and Gisborne smirked. To Guy's private delight, Ajsa did not blush.

"What were you saying, Allan?" she asked.

The poor man was in visible discomfort. "You'd been gone for a long time, so Robin sent me to make sure nothing'd happened to you...to either of you."

"Ah, yes," said Gisborne, clearing his throat. "Robin's concern is touching, but, as you can see, Ajsa and are quite unharmed." He felt his lips twitch in another smirk. If her reproving glare was any indication, it did not go unnoticed by Ajsa. No one could blame him for feeling smug, though, not after kissing so headstrong and lovely a woman.

"Right, then," said Allan, "I'll just go and tell Robin."

Once Allan was out of earshot, Guy indulged in the laughter that had been bubbling in his chest. Ajsa stared at him, eyebrows raised in surprise, before she, too, began to giggle. In a fit of joy, he grasped Ajsa by the waist and tugged her forward, muffling their laughter as their mouths met. The kiss lacked finesse, but that was not really the point. Guy of Gisborne was happy, and he wanted to share that happiness with the woman who was the cause of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a few fun, medieval facts about Ajsa's attire in this chapter:
> 
> 1\. The blue-grey color of her woolen dress was called "plunket" in the Middle Ages and was usually made with woad. 
> 
> 2\. There were two types of wool used for clothing in medieval times--worsted cloth and woolen yarn. Wool was the most common fabric back then, so practically everyone wore it, but the wealthy preferred the higher-quality woolen yarn to the worsted cloth (hence why Ajsa finds _woolen_ dresses in the noblewoman's wardrobe). 
> 
> 3\. Silk, though available in 12th century England, was incredibly expensive, so only royalty and extremely wealthy nobles could afford it. Unless you brought it back from the East with you, like Ajsa did.


End file.
